The Book of Bradley
by Bryan Borland
I will never be a father or an older brother
but that day I was both, a high school junior
giving the keys to you, barely 13, barely tall enough
to see over the dash of my Ford Mustang. You would
have been fine on those country backroads
had the sheriff not appeared in the rearview,
had you not lifted your foot and slowed to a crawl,
had you not been a highway toddler in irresponsible care,
then blue lights, of course, and we died together
as he walked to the driver’s side, ticket pad in hand,
but when he saw you he laughed and said
don’t let cops scare you, boy.
We tell this story over beers
on your 27th birthday. I am 31.
You have your beard and guitar. I have
my husband. I have never loved you more
than this moment. I have never better understood
what I’ve missed, what I’ve had.
© Bryan Borland
another great poem. i can easily picture you two getting pulled over and the cop making the driver nervous. they’re good for that. i always talked fast so i wouldn’t get a ticket. there was only one time i still got the ticket and it was for racing outside of town. well deserved i suppose,
hope all is well. have a great weekend.
What just a second, N! Just HOW MANY TIMES have you been pulled over? A little heavy-footed, are we?
Thanks for reading.
Oh, I like this!
They like you, Chuck. They always like you.
You write well.
Thanks for visiting!
Such deep and wonderful emotions you bring forth in your poem…excellent my friend.
what for a strong opening. a wonderful painted moment of relation and togetherness.
i am very happy to see you still have the time to write and bring to life. a poet is always a parent. just his kids are always moving to fast from childhood into the time they run around freely and carelessly, searching answers in the hearts of others.
D, you point out something important to me about poems being our children. I said the same thing to my mom the other day when we were talking about her not having any grandchildren from me… though she looked at me like I was crazy!
But the poems ARE our children. And when we put them out there for the world to read, they grow to adulthood and leave us to stand (or fall) on their own.
I can only try to imagine my parents if I try to tell them I give them poems instead of grandchildren.
they would freak out.
Love how you capture this moment. Agree with Dhyan… great opener.
Thanks, T! This one is special to me. I’ve been trying to write a “Bradley” book for a while, and hanging out with him on his birthday this year finally gave me the chance, and the muse.
So many stories, songs, are set in cars, especially in the South. Add this to the list, a fine tale well told.
Thanks Ray! I’d like to do an anthology of car poems, seriously.
I’ll submit to that anthology when you’re ready. Lucinda Williams has some great car songs. Maybe you know of her father, Mitch.
You could very well give her grandchildren…
Once again you took me on a ride, and I did not want to get out of that car…
Just came across this and was surprised that our conversations over beer and reminiscing about past lives would end up a poem. Hey Bryan you think you’d mention it to oh I don’t know…….me. I thought if anything that night might end up as poetry it would be “Beers with a straight guy”