Geocaching with Grant

I am still jet-lagged as we stand around a telephone booth on Andrássy street,
Grant, my sister, and me. 

We have just come from visiting the home-turned-shrine of composer Zoltán Kodály;
My sister and I once attended a school named after him. 

The telephone booth stands in front of a museum of artifacts from the Far East,
Collected by some Hungarian explorer-anthropologist—

Like Bilbo Baggins bringing dragon treasure to the Shire. 
This Hungarian and the hobbit were geocaching before geocaching was a thing. 

A set of coordinates on Grant’s phone have led us from Kodály’s house to here:
A chipped-paint green and yellow telephone booth with plywood interiors—an artifact, a relic.  

We do everything we can except take the booth apart.
No cache—nor cash—is found. 

I pace and look around, from the stone Chinese dragons on the museum lawn,
To the pedestrians giving us funny looks: 

Three American youths scouring a telephone booth in front of the Far East museum on Andrássy street,
A few blocks away from where Kodály’s personal affects reside, 

Searching for a geocache that is no longer there.  

We console ourselves with a trip to Burger King. 

(Summer 2016)