Ode to a Tattoo

by James von Dielingen

I rubbed so hard it made my skin red,
the tattoo I got last night before bed.
That stamp of black and green stained skin,
planted on my back by savage pin.

Had I known what I had done before bed,
I may not have scrubbed it until I bled.
Yet, there it stood, that permanent sign,
that I must have had a bit too much wine.

To the doctor I sped to have it removed.
He poked and dug and laser-ed and smoothed.
My skin came out fine, all ivory and clean.
I wiped my brow hoping no one had seen.

At home I took a load off in my chair,
Careful not to lean back and then tear
That skin soft and tender, fresh from the clinic.
My best friend laughed, for he's a big cynic.

When had I gotten that permanent paint?
Had I finally lost all sense of restraint?
It had to have been when I wasn't coherent
But the reason has yet to be made apparent.

I'll take a shower now, for I feel it is time
To wash myself clean from my back stamping crime.
But wait, what do I see right under my nose?
It's another tattoo there betwixt my toes!