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  • write4hire

Indelible Ink



The Child is father of the Man

William Wordsworth



Rory had always liked the tattoo of Hatteras

on my forearm, so


when it came time we met over at Cooper’s

High Dive, up the alley


off Main Street where I held the glass door open  

and he walked past me,


the two of us such an odd couple, separated

by 56 summers


and the weight of years, rolling up our sleeves,

his skin baby soft smooth,


mine leathery wrinkled, the buzzing gun, Coop

leaning into his timeless


art, an alchemy

in ink linking us beyond indelible tribal blood,


our eyes meeting

in the timeless smirk of young boys, pinkie swears,


blood brothers,

sliced palms pressing flesh, inked arms around


each other’s shoulders

as we walked out the glass door into a joyful


sunny afternoon

that still buzzes and buzzes so mournfully


in my skin today,

as it does every day, our sweet boy beside


this old coot wandering

down the barrier island under a Carolina blue sky,


blinding sun, sea oats

swaying, ocean sparkling, waves waist high


—SL, February 2024, Port Royal, SC





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margarita meyendorff
margarita meyendorff
Feb 21

Just back from 5 weeks in Mexico. Waited for a quiet moment to read your poem - all your poems need quiet moments. Your sensitivity touches me. Mourka

Feb 22
Replying to

As always, as ever, Mourka, thank you so much.,

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