It’s cold in the hut, we can make no fire
I have a can of whipped cream and
A tin of peaches
You’re incredulous, ‘you came hiking with cream and peaches?’
But no can opener. Dilemma.
‘It’s my opinion not to trust a man without a pocket knife’
You snort, pretending to dismiss me
‘5 years military service and you can’t even crack my tin’
You fly into masculine remedy
You split the tin on a rock, cleanly
Perfect specimen
We eat peaches daintily with our fingers
Under shelter from the rain
I spray cream into your mouth from the nozzle
‘This is quite good’ you say between mouthfuls
We watch the valley below, completely removed
From our earthly reality
Two birds.
