Can

There, sparkling at the bottom of
this mountain stream, lies the beer can.
It makes me feel new just to look at it.
Had the water not been so clear, I might
have missed it. It is hard not to think
of the foundries that smelted the aluminum,
the sheer genius it took to make it so thin,
so cylindrical. It makes me want a beer.
I wonder how much mud it holds, what kind
of life lives there? Maybe a crawdad, for
the hole in its top has been punched in
far enough for a small one to enter.
They are almost beautiful, the letters, black
on yellow, the glint of the bare bottom.


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