Curious habit you've got, Doctor,
Being proud of only parts of people.
I think if I had to choose, I would want
It to be my neck. My neck has
My throat, you see, and out of that
Comes the words you seem to be
So proud of! Well,
Thank you for all you've done,
But thank you more
For everything I've had to figure out
Alone, shambling, fingers numb in early Autumn.
You were never there
When it mattered most:
When the townsfolk came for me,
Torches and hayforks outstretched--
Where were you then, Victor?