poetry

“Barely Hidden Tattoo”

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“Barely Hidden Tattoo”

Barely hidden tattoo,

peeking over the neckline of your tank top.

I can’t rightly say if it’s the tip of an iceberg,

or a singular disembodied something.

What does it represent?

A victory?

A regret?

A tribute?

Is it a mocking representation of you in a foreign language?

Did you get it in Bangkok?

When you bent over to pick up your dropped pack of cigarettes,

I espied an ornate belt wrapping your midriff.

I’ve heard others vulgarly call them Tramp Stamps.

For what it’s worth, you don’t look like a Tramp.

Do you want to come back to my place for a drink?

I’ll show you my ink.

The doorman at my building has an arm sleeve tattoo.

I saw it that time his arm got stuck in the elevator.

when he tried to stop the doors from closing on Ms. Jenkins.

Are tattoos copyrighted?

Who gets the copyright?

You, or the tattoo artist?

My tattoo honors a fallen fetus.

My friend miscarried.

It was a boy, it wasn’t mine, but I wanted her to like me.

She got a tattoo of the father’s name instead.

They overdosed in a trailer two summers ago.

The ink ran out.

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