Hysterical, I ran after him and found a Shetland pony,
standing in the middle of a small, dirt field,
beckoning me to ride it.

My father found Wystan on all fours,
grazing, stunted.
I was seated on top of him,
holding his black mane,
steering him left and right
through the long grass
and when I pulled too hard on his hair,
he neighed.

When Wystan saw my father,
he got up immediately,
walked up to our father and kicked him in both legs.
Father collapsed. My father's legs were so badly bruised
that my mother had to drive the car home.
That was the last of our interminable countryside drives.

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