Sam Broussard
Sam Broussard
Image courtesy of
Daniel Affolter

Visits His Dad


Ira my bastard loco weed

proof that the saints and plumbers

should never breed

Put the dope in my strongbox

before the nurses' aides can steal me blind


Nurses' aides, oh, they're nice enough

though some show up sick

and some they treat me rough

They're understaffed, underpaid

so they steal our underwear


How could I notice my mind drifting loose

and I don't mind the white Lysol walls

And if I deserve pain it's for having you

But you'll clear your name

when you hit my vein

and take your old Dad to the ballgame



wheel me

out to the ballgame

I win our fight, meet your Waterloo

I'm poor but at least

I'm a burden to you

you waste of the womb of a saint

if you really want the truth


We called you Stinky Sweet Pea

Well, here we are now

the one in diapers is me

And though I don't like you

I love you like the son I wish I'd had


Gone in two years what I'd saved all my life

Ira, inherit the wind

Clean-living, hard-working I win the prize

A son who walks in

with his needles and pins

and I'm in love, I'm feeling groovy


everything's beautiful


They took away all my Lucky Strikes

as if we might rise

and trade our wheelchairs for bikes

I know they mean well

and I forgot what I was gonna say

Copyright © 2007, Sam Broussard. All Rights Reserved. Site by rowgully.