Stroke of luck
like a tattoo.
Been noodling – for years now –
three tattoos.
Thinking my inner forearms.
Forearms, practically virgin,
about the only white space
on my scarred old scarred old body.
WILD DOG on one arm.
With a vicious wolf face.
Big teeth, maybe drooling.
***
On the other arm, Become Your Own Hero.
Also thinking about getting my knuckles inked.
L-O-V-E and H-A-T-E
is such a cliche.
But F-U-C-K Y-O-U
is a knuckle short.
Exclamation mark might work.
You can do these things
after your mother dies.
and the wife isn’t paying attention.
And you are a little unbalanced.
Maybe even still stupid.
***
Then I get a note from a buddy.
Walking the dog I had a stroke.
note goes downhill from there.
But he actually uses the phrase,
lucky for me,
Lucky for me.
Grateful for such a wonderful wife.
Grateful for the paramedics.
Grateful for not ending up all Stephen Hawking.
Heck, I’m grateful to be alive.
I won’t kid you, I am also scared,
very scared.
Scared of what happened,
scared of what could have happened,
scared of what we face going forward.
Any words of advice?
I’d also appreciate any prayers.
***
Hell, I pray all the time.
Was just praying
Lord, please convince my wife
to let me get tattooed
my virgin forearms.
And Lord, please convince my wife
to talk me out of
my next mistake whatever.
And, dude,
they just tried to kill you
and they missed.
Victory is yours.
At least for now.
***
Remember something
I heard my father say:
Sorry it’s you, glad it’s not me.
and then I think
that might look good
across the front of my neck.
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