Tongue Tied

The joke falls flat.

The air leaves the room.

I try and save the moment,

but my tongue has weaved

into a constrictors knot.

The next words eject out,

a guttural noise lingers in the air.

I startle myself — because I realise

that sound came from me.

I fight the snare trapping lips,

my intention is to save the moment.

Time for extreme measures.

I pull the parachute lever

but instead of preserving me,

I fall, and I

detonate

when I hit the ground.

If you pull the string and

the parachute doesn't release;

chances are you will have a

heart attack before you hit the ground.

If only.

Both those options

would preserve my dignity.

Your disposition always leaves me tongue-tied.

Every time I try to dazzle you,

I always achieve the opposite.

I am a fool,

I notice the spark diverge from your eyes,

faster than a shooting star.

A draft blows in and,

before I know it, you’ve vanished.

The only thing that unfastens the bind is your proficient tongue.

Just a casual flick and the impossible knot is undone.

The master key to my comfortability.

Now, I don’t have access to that luxury.

I need to master how to do it myself.

I need to hit reset.

Undo my ligature,

without your acid tongue to guide me.

Because that is all you should need.

Poem by Jakeb Smith

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This article appeared in the The Gavel #1 ‘The Among Us Issue’ (2021) Publication