IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK

Wine Opener

A poem

Photo by Todd Deery

Plastic guardian to my vices,
St. Peter to my pinots,
usher to an easy word or wandering eye —
every day how I crave your acceptance,
your entry into that unaerated space
only you can provide.

What were the first monks thinking
when they crafted such narrow passage,
your life’s lone workplace,
opaque twin of the throat
that leads to the bottle’s full reward
of oaky tannins and fruity notes.

Did they know when they plugged the first
how important you’d become?
Your single, spiral leg, flip-top face
and as I turn you farther down,
those industrial-era arms rising in silver victory
toward the sky and the ones that anointed you

master over my life of nights.