Tattoo

To prevent infection, I keep ice
on the outskirts of my new tattoo,
which I got at that parlour at the curb,
the one with the windows that always look wet
and always seems to have a 2-for-1 sale,
I think it’s called Iron Cross.

It’s of a skull, with two snakes across
the eyes, spitting out dice,
which fits with my gambling addiction (as did the sale),
coinciding with my impulsiveness to get the tattoo,
a trait that makes my mouth wet
and one I must curb.

Outside my window, there’s a hooker at the curb,
wearing a cross necklace.
Her hair is wet
from standing around in the wintry ice.
I wonder if she’d like my new tattoo
and my old one of a pirate ship sail.

I’d take her to a movie, one with Kate Beckinsale,
and tell her she doesn’t need to be on that curb,
turning tricks for some jerk with a tattoo,
as she holds on for dear life to her cross.
Getting paid to do it twice,
or until they’re both wet.