Gene McCormick- Poem & Art

The Monday Afternoon Barnes & Noble

Tattooed Ladies Club, By Invitation Only

Nowadays nothing totally strange about sitting

in Barnes & Noble, the café section,

mid-afternoon listening to the espresso machine

heat milk while getting a forearm, hand and

fingers henna tattooed even if,

one supposes, you are a permed, white haired

overweight matronly type wearing pink

pedal pushers, a striped tank top a size too small

and a plastic encased badge proclaiming

“My Name Is…” along with a faraway look

in near-sighted eyes. Four small, round top tables

are in a line seating eight similar ladies,

a few with walkers, all with tattoos:

arms, legs, necks and doubtless elsewhere,

out on an excursion. For now, laptops

have been set aside and all eyes are on

the lady being tattooed.

“You’re gonna be the most eccentric bad-assed

woman in town,” says the artiste lady with a

buzz cut wearing short shorts whose thighs

roll over the tourniquet hem of lime green shorts.

There is additional tattoo talk, then book talk,

then TV and finally discussion of mutual

acquaintances but never of men.

The artiste bends close to her work, dipping a pen

into the henna ink and slowly drawing an ad lib

Indian image. It is deep blue but will turn sepia

in days and completely disappear in a matter

of just weeks. The geriatric model breaks

her silence to say she is getting tired and the

tattoo lady says she can stop any time now.

No, keep going, I’ve got a lot of canvas to cover.

It’s raining out, light rain with a warm breeze

just strong enough to push drops against

the big Barnes & Noble front windows

as Frank Sinatra tunes play on the music system,

interrupted by occasional thunder claps.

If Sinatra were still kicking he would be

older than the eight tattooed ladies,

but not so much. All in all, though,

a perfect afternoon for a work of art.