Missing Parts
Your name is branded
Into the places where I am missing parts.
Along the hinges of metal that replace
The bone of my arm: your three first names.
Engraved into the titanium
That hammered out the marrow of my femur,
Where the leg was split
Your name spits fire
Into the ditches where the flesh and alloy meet. In the winters
I feel old so early.
Our impact is a blanket dulling the roar of my 25th summer
Underneath which the two of us are still joy-riding the town
Weighty and bionic, grasping for limbs.
