You listened to your snobbish friends
 And insults they ascribed―
"The Bottom of the Barrel"
 Was the way I was described.

It was their hope that we would part
 (I know it wasn't mine),
Yet I resisted bitter thoughts
 While sinking through their brine.

I'll wait for you, cucumber cool,
 Fermenting in this drum―
Perhaps someday you'll find me here
 Once you've skimmed through the scum.