Josh Brabender

Rookie (Cincinnati)

Getting Caught (Thank You) - Poem by Josh Brabender

Like I'm stuck dead in a cloud
I train my way to the nearest seat.
Unaware that people are aware
That I'm incapable of function.
I slur out half-words to my parents and their parents.
Thinking I fooled them once more like months before.
But the SWAT team of a father took me to reality.
and by the now-ripped shirt neck
Going home was a blur, Probably lacked emotion.
Blank Faces
Oh, But It was I the fool in the car,
for inside them burned a million thoughts
And even at home, quiet, and patient.
I begged for a meeting, but.
Like the other hours, they're quiet in their refusal
Good Thing.
They were my meeting as it turned
and my slap in the face
and my hovering bully
and my reality check
and my available shoulder.
Had they let me wonder to that meeting
I never would be coherent to produce these words
to say..
Thank you.

-For Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Jeremy, Sydney, And everyone else who has helped me, or felt pain because of me. I’m More grateful than You will ever know.

Comments about Getting Caught (Thank You) by Josh Brabender

  • (4/17/2008 8:01:00 AM)

    I am proud of you. Never forget - there is nothing you can do to make me stop loving you. Dad (Report)Reply

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  • (4/5/2008 11:42:00 AM)

    Very nice, Josh (Jeffery?) . I think every red-blooded American boy has had a like experience, including myself. I'm glad you learned from your mistake, as this shows maturation. Sobriety is best for a younster, and moderation for an adult.
    My struggles with alcoholism are documented in 'Devil Whiskey' and 'A poem lost'. My father's stern look of disapproval always affected more the my mother's yelling at me or slapping me between my shoulder blades. A well-expressed and honest sentiment in this text. But you might want to put the dedication as a preface.

    BTW, I've been a life-long Cincinnati Reds fan, having been taken to old Crosley Field to see the Reds play many times as a kid by my (much) older cousins that moved from New Orleans to Cincy in the 1950s. I even saw Pete Rose playing second base as a rookie!

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Poem Submitted: Friday, April 4, 2008

Poem Edited: Saturday, April 5, 2008

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