I Remember

(i)

I remember a time
when you took the bullets
for me. Human shield.
I was safe from everything.
But then you grew weary
of the wounds – started to think
the words were really all for you.
And so you left.
A parting gift was a loaded gun
with my name on it.

(ii)

I remember a time
when the names didn’t hurt me.
That hazy untouchable feeling
of a strolling concrete block.
Little did I know
a magpie stole the labels –
attracted by their razor sharp shine.
And now I feel the sickly prickle
against my ribs,
where she built her nest.