Price Of Freedom: Dealing With The 'Can' Poem by Helen C Capan

DEDICATED to those who can kick the can

“A buck fifty, ” said the clerk on that day.
And the six-pack of tallboys went home with the man.
“Two thirty, ” he complained some years later,
As the first of the six-pack took hold of the man.
“Two thirty, ” moaned his girl yet again,
“is the price of this hell at the hands of my man.
Ten thousand and fifty is what I’d give
To be rid of this demon sold in the can.”

But the price of her freedom was only a prayer
by the faithful to God who stood for the man.

“Three eighty, ” said the clerk on this day.
And the six-pack of tallboys went home with the man.
“Three eighty, ” said he, in approval this day,
And he patted the sack by his side full of cans.
“Three eighty, ” groaned his wife on this day,
“Let me brace for this hell at the hands of my man.”

But the pop of the top of the first of the cans
was the spark of a thought hitting home with the man.
So the pop of the top of the rest of the cans
was the first of his freedom from his bond with the can.

Down the drain of the sink went the curse from the cans
and his wife was amazed by the strength of her man.
“Three dollars and eighty cents, ” she said.
Yet the price of a prayer was what changed the man.

In her praise to the Lord for the prayer for the man
was the love for the God who could deal with the can.
So the pop of the top of the rest of the cans
was the first of her freedom from his bond with the can.

But the price of her freedom was only a prayer
by the faithful to God who stood for the man.

Copyright 2005 by Helen C. Capan