Gene Aubrey,
in the neighborhood
who put his own initials
into his arm with a straight needle,
and black ink.
we were twelve,
sitting around the dark
room,
his mother downstairs
making pot roast,
his father in the yard cursing
the weeds
and life in general.
he held the needle
to a lit match
to sterilize the tip,
then he dipped it into
the well of ink,
to tattoo G A
into his skinny forearm.
it took months before the infection
died down
and the scab wore off.
i still remember that.
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