55,56,57

 

Tom Stone Image

Credit TomStone Photography -Stories

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

’55, ’56, ’57

Striking blue, wise eyes
Entered the room with a bang.
Radiating midwestern farming grace.

An octagenarian debating.
A tattoo. His first.
Body mods desired since the last century.

A football.
American oval, not International round.
Pigskin body mod from last century.
(in the old days, apprentice tattooists practiced their craft…on pigskin)

’55, ’56, ’57
Emblazoned – permanently. To remember
Glory days fading from view.
(Hurry. Once it starts it may be too late)

Fading from view in an aging minds eye.
So many clouded already, then gone.
Lost. Already.

I watched his eyes. He never tipped off what the story was.
I knew he was having a hard time making the leap.
Accepting the fact that permanence isn’t always so.
Not in the mind.

A “bucket list” thing, fear driven.
A last grab at what happenned.

He was having a hard time making the leap
To his thoughts and to his skin.
His wife was next door at the Thrift Store.

Those blue eyes said it wasn’t the permanence of the act.
It was that the moment from years ago now must be seized, documented or lost.

Out of necessity.

One hundred and fifty dollars.
“Ill be back. Meet my wife, have a bite, and then … I’ll probably be back.” He stuttered the last “probably”.

I know exactly how he feels. Assuming I remembered correctly.

I didn’t stutter.