Me
and Maggie must have spent
twenty minutes
pushing
hard down on those
fake tattoos she said
they'd look good
with our braless suits besides
every second spent
pressing
lent just another
hint of deeper color and
she wanted to see
what her mother might do
if she assumed
they were real. She
thought
we could have more fun in the attic, we
could comb down
the shutters and forget it was Summer
Rub the wax from
the candles all over each other.
Until the sheen
brightened the bogus depictions
And the antique
portraits watched in panic
fretted as if the
pictures were permanent
instead of just
a smooth removable plush
As harmless as
eye shadow
or blush
Then
we'd
show our Nair knees off at the pool and
Maggie would slap
at the back their heads but
the boys just want
to throw the stupid foot
ball.
©
2006 Tom Hamilton
Tom
Hamilton is an Irish Traveler. He currently lives with the clan known
as the Mississippi Travelers. His work has appeared in over seventy
publications, including Old Crow Review, The Rockford Review
and The Main Street Rag, among many others. Along with his wife
Mary Theresa and their two small daughters, Tiffany and Hope Ann, he
lives in Memphis TN.
