The Call of The Tin Can

When I was five
years old
I walked behind
my parents
kicking a tin can,
thinking to myself
"this is freedom,
no mom or dad to hold my hand,
no curfew,
no rules,
just me and my imaginary grenade
that could explode any minute".

It was a game
of laughter and danger.

Hearing that can again,
rolling across the pavement,
I look back
twenty-four years later,
as if it was only a day ago and think
" why did I let go of their hands"? 

Reviews

[Clint A. Avery, M.B.]

Thanks for the review. I changed the format to be a poem instead of prose and made a few edits, hopefully it's a bit cleaner of a piece.

[A Shared Narrative]

A great little bit of stream-of-consciousness that reflects on the innate dichotomy almost all of us have as we grow up, and grow away from our parents. It gives me both warm and sad feelings in turn. It's a sensation that can come from really good writing

For such a short piece, the lack of formatting really hurt my enjoyment of it. If a piece is going to be this short, everything needs to be flawless from a technical perspective.

Clean it up, and I'll review it again (or review my review), and bring the rating score up where it should be.