Filed in Gather Writing Essential by on April 27, 2011 0 Comments

It must have been around 1967
That he met her in Salvation Hall
And she was there for the handouts

And drinks and advice on how to
Get off the drugs shit and she said
To him what you think of my tattoos?

And he looked at them and put
His finger along them to see if they
Were for real and she said get your

Fucking finger off of me man who
Do you think you are? He shrugged
His shoulders and said just making

Sure they were for real. Real? You
Think I’d put transfers on myself?
These are as real as my ass and

Don’t think that’s an invitation man.
Why you’re as bad as my old man
He couldn’t keep himself to himself

If his two bit life depended on it and
She lit up a cigarette and stared at
Him taking each aspect of him standing

There amongst the goody two shoes
Types with their tambourines and hymns
And uniforms and she said what you

Think of my tattoos then? Aren’t they
The works aren’t they what you would
Have always wanted? My old lady said

Only whores have tattoos or those queer
Dames who hang in those kind of bars
And go to bed together and she’d blush

Her ass pink to talk about it. He said
Yeah fine tattoos especially the ones on
Your thighs and she smirked and took in

A big drag on the cigarette and let out the
Smoke real slow and said I share a room
With Dennis and he’s hooked pretty bad

And can’t get it up much anymore and so
We just lay there at night counting stars and
Listen to music on the old hifi he picked up

From a friend’s place while they were away
And I feel he wants to fuck me but he’s out of
It and so I just remember him as he was and

The good times and the way the moon shines
Through the window lighting up his face and
Showing each needle hole since his fall from grace.

About the Author ()

A man who seeks truth and friendship and hopes for abetter world.

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