The oldest person he’d ever tattooed, he said
Was a widowed old lady of eighty-six, no less,
Who ever since she was a girl had longed
To have her very own tattoo, but first
Her dad had put his foot down on the plan
And then it was her husband who’d said “no”,
So frustrated all her life, she’d had to wait
Until her husband had been laid to rest —
Now here she was! So taking a deep breath
Outside the tattoo parlour, and feeling rather
Nervous she stepped in. Among the punk-
haired girls with hollowed eyes and pierced tongues
And boys with metal belts and shaven heads
She felt a little out of place, but then
She saw the glittering samples on the wall —
A rainbow-coloured magic land of fantasy
With wizards, dragons, lightning, thundrerbolts,
Warriors with blazing guns — “Pow! ” and “Blatt! ” —
Wild horses and women with bayonets and blasters,
Leaping, screaming, long tresses streaming,
Bare-thighed, wild-eyed, untrammelled, free…
And in the quiet places on the wall
Red roses richly entangled in thickets of thorns,
Loving hearts and limbs entwined in blossomed arbours
Where swallows and lovebirds go swooping and looping in play.
When her turn came, she chose a purple dragon,
Fork-tailed and fiercely snarling, spitting flame.
She did not think her father or late husband
Would have approved its presence on her arm
But “tough! ” At least she knew it would surprise
The maiden lady who brought her ‘meals-on-wheels’
And if it didn’t, she had been rather taken
By those slender silver rods for pierced tongues.
Pete Crowther
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-first-tattoo/
