Preserves — K. Hunt

She stands beside the old totem
This tourist from a despoiled land
Can of Coke clutched tightly
Almost proudly
Waiting while her husband
Focuses

I picture her at home
In a flat
With a view of the ersatz Rhine
Drowning in a sea of doilies
But smiling
Arms wagging while holding up photographs
Of the real thing
Going on as far as the lens can see

I want to ask to put the can outside
Of this memory
But watch
As these untethered mountains crash slowly into the drink
Listen
To the rumble of distant dynamite
Or an anonymous carver
Turning in his sleep