it was a mistake getting this tattoo.
it seemed like
a good idea at the time,
after four or five
Moscow mules,
driving to some foreign
part of town.
who is she? Esmeralda?
this name now etched upon
my arm.
hearing the door slam,
I look out the window,
maybe that's her,
leaving in her leopard
print coat,
getting into her yellow
ford pinto,
and carrying what looks
like
an easter ham.
my ham that I bought
just yesterday.
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