Dented Cans

I remember those Dented tin cans The string communication Of my childhood. We lived in first story houses, Telling their fourth or fifth As we stood on the other side Of a world without the grey. Eyes screwed shut, We shouted excitement into Our fathermade walkie talkies Chicken noodle Clam Chowder We were always running wild Chasing what we already had Our adventure and That’s gone You said Life ends at seventeen. But here we are, Here you are, My childhood love. Standing so close, One string length away to Touch your hand. That must have seemed longer, Once. What would it take of me, From me. To press the still sharp edge, Tasting of clam chowder, The ocean that you hear in The echos, Into my cracked upper lip And reach out through These shells of us Let these ruined wires say What I cannot. “Hello?” Means I miss you.