58. The Mark of Cain

I don't have long to write, my loves. We're in Recloses this weekend for Shaie's birthday party. I'm sure you remember her from my earlier post about our stay there. Anyway, it's big fun party, as a party for a six-year old yet full of adults might be.
But tonight's poem is not about that. It's about my future tattoo.

This picture is foreshadowing

I think it's time that I got a tattoo;

I've gone so long and never marked my skin.

It seems to be the thing that cool kids do,

So to their halls I'd be conducted in.

But what shape shall my fleshly artwork take?

A dragon, or a favorite author's quote?

And on what part of me this mark to make?

On arm or ankle, small of back, or throat?

I tease, for I have chosen what and where.

In fact, it wasn't all that long a search.

My love for Star Trek shall my ink declare:

a comm badge on my chest where one would perch.

I'll be so proud my geekhood to assert

I'll jump at any chance to shed my shirt.