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The heel prick test was your kick in the stomach,

though that didn’t stop me from punching you there.

You were born the boy whose insides were all wrong –

the kid who couldn’t do swaps from his lunchbox.

I remember the sadness that swallowed me

the day you told us the wrong foods could kill you.

Yet I swung for you that day in the playground –

now we both have something not right in the gut.

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