You Are More Than a Fart in the Wind, a Dead Dog in a Car

I sought a tattoo of poetic proportions—

a quote from Wordsworth, Keats, the Bard, or Such.

Something indelible that would whisper from my skin,

like a line by a master, a mezzo piano, lingering on the breeze—

oh.

-

But thanks to liquor, bravado, and blinding pain—

and the needle that set my skin ablaze—

my judgement was blurred into Scotch mist.

I stumbled out inked, just above my ass, with:

-

“You are more than a fart in the wind,

a dead dog in a car.”

-

The shame on my face said it all—

Would this derriere faux pas be my downfall?

I pondered and pondered,

checked my reflection twice and thrice,

and realised—

oh—

it may not be eternal, nor eloquent.

It's like roadkill and methane

wrapped in a message

said enough times,

it becomes

so true.

*

Thanks for reading!

AN: I stand by it.

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