The Cans on the Posts

By Jim Hagarty

I once roamed our farm with a gun
And shot cans off fence posts just for fun.
It beat trying to hit them with stones
Like I used to do, next to our home.

But one day I looked up to see
A hawk flying high above me.
Temptation to shoot was too strong
And I fired, though I knew it was wrong.

I missed and I’m thankful I did.
But my father yelled at me, “Hey kid!
“If I ever see you do that again
“Your gun days will end there and then.”

I was shocked as I thought at the time
Everything was a target of mine.
And one day, I was bored, I suppose,
I threw stones at the cans on the posts.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.