The tattoo artist
with the dreadlocks and the comic book t-shirts,
he'd stand in front of his shop
chain smoking and drumming up business
from passersby most nights of the week.
The first few times I walked past
we ignored each other.
Eventually came the head nods,
and then the quick greetings.
The day I stopped
and asked him for a tattoo,
he chuckled and said, ‘It's about time.’
Even though we had never previously spoken,
for one evening inside the tattoo shop,
that artist an I rhapsodized for hours
as old friends.