Preserves

I was looking for the flour for the sale,

shoving aside the boxes of crackers

and the salt that’s gone hard in the box.

The smell hit me first—sharp and fermented,

like a dive bar at ten in the morning.

A jar of peaches from last September

had turned into a bomb of sugar and gas.

The metal lid was bulging toward the shelf,

tense and ready to finally let go.