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- 44 Gratitude Pity the poor workhorse Philoctetes. He smokes, watches lightning over the graves, Exiled to a swampy, littered ruin. Sophocles, Euripides, Aeschylus— Writers love him, or his predicament. He’s too foul to have around, but in a crisis He’s wanted, despite the cups of puss That leak from his heel. They need the bow bent By the one they revile but suddenly miss. Their tragic strophes cleverly squeezed Some sad sense from his life—outcast who saves Those who change their minds when they want to win: Stranded, pointless, despised until the day They return to bring him back to the fray. ...

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