A Poem for Gus Who always said the wedding was a bad idea
Our father never hit us kids, at least not very hard. Before the day my brother said with teenage disregard That he'd be dead before he'd see a wedding in our yard.
My father made him come of course, but Gus stood far apart Just flew his kite and bottled up the storm inside his heart
I tried to talk him out of it, but though he'd never met her "We don't need a stepmom," were the words that I remember
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