I pulled out a drawer on my desk
and found names scrawled
in pink pen.
“So and so loves what’s-her-name”
I want to look them up
and ask them,
Do you remember,
or is it possible to forget?
Because you’ve been haunting me
like a bad tattoo…
you know the kind.
You get them on vacation,
black ink in your sun-deprived buttocks
because the tattoo artist
assures you
it hurts less there.
All I know is,
mother’s not going to see this one.
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