Lou

My old man was a saint.
No — really — an actual saint.
And his name was never said.

I fought hard for him,
and I was his only pay.

How do you know if the words shine,
or if they’re just a waste of spit,
an embarrassment.
Like a bruise.

My old man was a…
in everything I had to say,
and his lies still bite my ear.

I have to go now.
I hear Lou cussing down the hall,
telling me to answer the da phone.