Sam Broussard
Sam Broussard
Image courtesy of
Daniel Affolter

My Former Shell


Hello, I'm not home.

I am far from the phone.

Leave a message, better yet, leave me alone.


If I'm sounding thin or hollow,

you're hearing just an echo

due to lower levels of the male hormone.


I was sick, I'm getting well.

I'll be happy, y'all can stay in hell.

Soon I'm gonna be a shell of my former shell.


I'm in a frozen hunting lodge

with a tumbler full of scotch

while my other lawyer friends are making moose extinct


I'd like to shoot those guys

draw a bead on big white eyes

but they're not worth me having to set down my drink.


I was sick ...


Could this be my future ex-wife calling?

Darling I can hear your nails drying.

Your attorney's good with small details.

You're a perfect match, with his teeth and your nails.


My killer instinct's gone.

Shot down like a dog.

Injected lethally, electrocuted, fried.


I made it walk the plank.

I hung it by its neck.

It kicked and screamed and hollered but it never cried,

and that's the difference between it and I.


I was sick ....

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