Tattooed Love

by on November 9, 2019 :: 0 comments

My old man played the blues
and dragged me from Biloxi,
to Chicago and Paris, one day he
quit speaking and forgot his guitar.

He sat in a chair for five years
eating chicken and drinking whiskey,
then he turned into a butterfly before
my eyes and flew out the window.

I woke with a dog shit tongue, my
chest was covered with a dried
blood-soaked towel, it was saffron
colored and stank of tequila.

A tattoo of Jesus walking on water
adorned my freshly shaved torso.
Holy guacamole I thought, now I’ll
probably be touched by the finger of God.

I met a beautiful Mexican senorita,
she said, “You’re tired and I am too.
but we are two different animals,
you need rest, I am run over

Worn bald at the edges and can’t
get much traction. With time you
will rejuvenate. I am a black chunk
of rubber on the road of life.”

We traveled north to the valley of chilis
hanging crimson from adobe vigas, at
night we slept under a Frida Kahlo moon
dancing horses licked our faces awake.

editors note:

Without the tattoo, it could all be a dream. – mh clay

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