I hated you Legless Billy,
and the way your prairie family
and fiancée looked at me,
that flat stillness of the plains
reaching to the horizon from
every window and across
the dining room table, when
I described how you saved my life.
We all hated you, Billy,
sitting there in your gleaming
wheelchair and spotted bib.
It's only now, in midnight
calls from mid-life that I hear
in your voice how we are
bound to that screaming red flare
lighting all we will never again own.
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