What Are We To Time Anyway?

By Michael Gallowglas

I keep trying to catch a glance
at the ink just behind
her right ear.
Through the coffee date,
she moves in ways
that lets me know
she’s got a small tattoo
there, but her hair
keeps swishing back
to obscure it,
keeping me from seeing
what was so personal
she paid someone to inscribe
it onto her body.
She asks: Would you ever get married
in a cemetery?
You could tape pictures
of long-passed loved ones
on the tombstones all around the ceremony.
I try to think
of something clever
but instead, I take
a long drink of my coffee.
Every night is lonely
until you finally stop wishing
for a goodnight kiss.
What can you possibly say
to the dead when your plates
are empty and you’ve run
out of polished spoons
and can’t shovel the bullshit
the living world keeps
piling on all
the fucks you no
longer possess?
At last, I suck it up
and ask the lady . about her tattoo.
She moves her hair back,
looks out the window,
and displays her semi-colon.
I show her mine,
right on my sinister forearm.
She tentatively caresses
my ink with her thumb.
Her smile matches
the shine in her eyes,
and she whispers:
Let’s be immortal together.

---

Michael Todd Gallowglas is a creative mind hustling to make some semblance of being a professional creative in this late-stage free-market Capitalism hellscape. With three degrees in writing and over 30 book credits to his name across fiction, poetry, and non-fiction, Gallowglas seems to have settled into his stride. Every now and again, Gallowglas steps away from his journal and computer and onto the stage to perform some old-fashioned traditional storytelling.