FADED TATTOO.

AN OLD WOMAN REMEMBERS.

She’d been a cancan
Dancer way back, you’d
Seen her old photo
In the retirement
Home where it was on
The small cabinet
Between the bed and

Commode, framed in a
Tarnished frame, standing
There, her only old
Photo, so she’d said
One morning lying
On her bed, smoking
A cheroot (it was

Still allowed back then,
But frowned upon, the
Smoking in bed not
The cheroot).That’s me,
Do you think I looked
Quite sexy? She asked.
You just stared at the

Photo taking in
The colours, the hair,
The shapely legs, the
Cute a*s. Yeah, you said,
You were quite some dame.
She smiled. I had men
Drooling over me

Then, she muttered, now
They just drool in their
Chairs, over tables,
On the commodes, on
The stinking toilets.
She sighed. Do you like
The stockings and shoes?

Yeah, you said peering
Closer at the pink
Top she’d worn. Time makes
Mockery of us
All, she said, looking
At you, studying
You in your off white

Uniform, the young
Man young enough to
Be her grandson, all
Wide-eyed and open
Mouthed. Enjoy youth
While you can; it soon
Goes, fades away. Want

To see my tattoo?
She said. See this and
She pushed up her pink
Nightdress to reveal
A faded tattoo
On her wrinkled thigh.
Not many men have

Seen that recently,
She smiled. Count yourself
Blessed, young man, have a
Good look. And you did
And saw the fading
Of beauty and heard
The soft knocking of

Mr Death on her
Door some months later
And heard she’d asked
For you. Wanted to
Know what you thought of
Her faded tattoo.