A bolt larger than a half dollar severed his middle finger.
It fell from far above, the top of the derrick.
All while he spoke to a friend, leaning with hand on a rail.
He had nine fingers after that.
His hand was so peculiar, yet strong- as he was.
He was an honorable member of the Turtle Club;
Membership bestowed by cheating death in the oil fields of West Texas,
When an entire oil rig fell on the car he was in and he was wearing his helmet,
In the car.
He'd grab me with palm outstretched and all his remaining fingers curled oddly
Around the space where his middle finger was, and he'd hold me.
His arms were like iron and his belly was a tank.
He loved me so.
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