Blue Tattoo

Gladly the rag falls dead beside the kitchen sink, Grey and brown with coffee grounds and spillage, Dripping pensive ochre on the rim, Sombrely it slipped over the brink And stank of rape and pillage. Handmaid of the sweat shop penitentiary, Her abrasive bruises culled by twilight shades, In solitary confinement for a lifetime and a day, Locked into bleak mundanity, her being rudimentary, She dreams of bygone summer glades. Cobwebs hang down perilous from the dimming light, A naked dying sun on bare and fraying flex, Sheds gossamer bars upon her grating spine Wherein knots of sheer tension coil their fibres tight, A flea circus of a prison complex. The code of the dishmop head that often taps Against her moribund loop of apron string Construes a garbage cipher she ignores, For the cold communication that it raps Is the sort that fails to tell her anything. Inward she may focus on her wilder past, When sex bristled sheathed in fishnet and scarlet And hidden chaffed the thong of leather lingerie; Her power and vivacity magnetic, unsurpassed, Defined and drove the instinct of the harlot. Still upon the reddened sagging of her upper arm Scowls the blurred blue stain of a devil replete With horns and pitchfork, malicious crimson eyes And a sneer prophesying she was doomed to come to harm With the self-fulfillment legend: "Easy Meat."