tattoo you (two)

but not me. this is a part deux to yesterday's uno insofar as i saw a pal tonight who has a tattoo around his leg. he's not enough of a friend that i would have known that already, that he has a tattoo. after i saw him, on the subway ride home a bloke got on, lots of ink all over this arms. and a woman with a tiny red star on the back of her lower calf, that part of the leg which i used to fear would get slashed by the the evil man under the bed (as opposed to the lady in the water who apparently sings nursery rhymes in a whispery but still quite articulate voice). the foot would then dangle by the front. now you know why for years i stood on my bed and then leapt off at a sufficient distance that i'd escape his thrashing blade.

anyhoo, tattoo season is not more upon us than usual, it's simply summer. they're on view in their glory and otherwise. i've thought of getting one from time to time. something small, funny, colorful (no japanese words meaning truth or love or mommy or a portrait of the grim reaper with the words underneath 'death before dishonor' like a woman i saw had at a drug store). i'd veer discreet. but, like the skirt and the shampoo before it, the noncommittalness of me here acts like an iron curtain. does that metaphor even work? i don't know. don't care either, which is funny cause a guy i used to know once called me the 'metaphor police.' he was the same fellow who told of a girlfriend who 'serviced' him and i had to object but not before laughing. at him, not with.

back to ink. what if i got one and in a week regret it? hey you, with the tattoo, are you immune to the plague of indecision?

i imagine you are, you lucky striker.