I ain’t ever been one for pain as a type
Of pleasure as life has inflicted too much
In this god-damn reality of mine I didn’t
Need any more but I gotta confess there
Was a time, mid-90s, when I did flirt with
The idea of getting a tattoo.
Black Flag ‘Life of Pain’ etched across
The top of my arm was my plan but money
Never came & life slowly got better & the
Pain slowly diminished until I could listen
To that god-damn record without wanting to
Break everything in sight so it never happened
& now, it seems, everywhere I look ink
Lights up skin & I got to admit a lot of it
Just leaves me cold.
I spy hipsters with anchors adorning any bare
Piece of skin and all I can do is think where’s
The god-damn ‘W’ you useless wanker?
I spy the poor young guy cosplaying football
Elegance, always seen popping from Nandos
Right into Sports Direct & always covered in ink!
I spy emo scene kids slam dancing to this weeks’
New in-thing as they buy £40 bottles of French
Vodka pretending their hardcore when they ain’t!
But then I see the old-school types; a lone rake-thin
Guy who stalks the pavement covered head to toe
With ink & I believe it’s his only friend, whilst
The tattoo parlour on the hipster filled death strip
Of Kemptown has an artist who is so possessed
His white arms have turned black with ink whilst
Me, well,
The closest I’ve ever come was when a pen exploded
As I was writing a poem long-hand at work & it
Went all over my hand!
Bradford Middleton lives in Brighton, England. Recent poems have been published at Fixator Press, Underbelly Press, Broken Teacup, Dear Booze, Horror Sleaze Trash, Mad Swirl, Thirteen Myna Birds and in The Good Press’ The Paper. His first collection is currently doing the rounds of various small press publishers.