The Tattoo
‘Wayne,’ it says.
It would be Wayne, I thought,
not Jake or Tom or Simon…
Wayne.
Blue and red,
the red for blood, of course
dripping from the
arrowed heart.
‘Tasteful’, I mutter,
and her eyebrows rise;
well, those tortured arches
that crown those
lovely eyes,
fringed with soot
and shoe polish.
…they rise.
“You don’t like it do you?”
Her perfect mouth,
purple-painted,
droops.
“It’s just so…. permanent,” I say.
“And so are we,” she sighs.
By half term,
Wayne is history,
the tattoo’s prophecy
fulfilled.
The black rivers of tears have dried.
The crass cartoon
that stains her slender
flawless arms,
will take some explaining to
Jake, Tom, Simon or
whoever.
One day
I’ll pay
for Wayne to leave the scene.
But not yet.
Even the Waynes of this world have their purpose.
castelsarrasin 
Interesting perspective from the eye of the tattoo artist. Beautifully poetic and such a clear expression of the impermanence of young love. Congrats on the publish, I’m not at all surprised.
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Thank you Judee. 🙂 I’ve never understood the attraction of tattoos, and often wonder how many live to regret them. Being hyper allergic, ink is just about the last thing I’d think about committing to my skin. 😦 I’ve got enough problems with detergents, metals etc…)
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writing poetry is fun,
thanks for posting an interesting poem.
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Smiling I am! Wrote a much longer reply to another poem so will be shorter this time….
this is just plain FUN! And also has some common sense to it! Love the name Wayne….just seems to go with it 🙂 And love the inset conversation — really makes the poem come alive and have some zing to it. I can just see her pouty face with this person is talking to her 🙂
Excellent!
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Thank you Lillian. This was probably my favourite effort. 🙂
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