If you run your hands along my sides
you can feel the ridges beneath my skin,
the raised lines of glass,
an old pharmacy trick,
so those who could not read their words
wouldn’t pick up the poison
When you have peeled my clothes away,
they will still be there.
The final line of defence
when all the labels have been cast off
and you could be forgiven
to think I was medicine
instead of arsenic wrapped in curves.