Stopping by the Tattoo Parlor on an August Evening

Stopping by the Tattoo Parlor on an August Evening | Zocalo Public Square • Arizona State University • Smithsonian

Courtesy of George Chelebiev/Flickr.

Whose hands are these I think I know.
In my pants, in the neon glow
of the THRASHER sign above

the toilet, summer is just beginning
to swelter. “No Hands” is on the radio
no shit is tagged across the plywood

wall, across the mirror I tip into
like tipping might pour out
the distance between this body

& the one I cain’t ever seem
to touch. Enough. My thighs
aren’t yet sore from the thrust

of the needle against some phrase
you probably read once & never
again. Not so here. Not so

fast; I’m already puckering
for a photo finish that won’t come
home with me or you. You’re

probably at the pool. You’re
probably eating a sandwich
with these fingers right now.

Meg Day is a deaf and genderqueer poet, and the author of Last Psalm at Sea Level. Day is assistant professor of English and Creative Writing at Franklin & Marshall College.
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