The oldest person he’d ever tattooed, he said br Was a widowed old lady of eighty-six, no less, br Who ever since she was a girl had longed br To have her very own tattoo, but first br Her dad had put his foot down on the plan br And then it was her husband who’d said “no”, br So frustrated all her life, she’d had to wait br Until her husband had been laid to rest — br Now here she was! So taking a deep breath br Outside the tattoo parlour, and feeling rather br Nervous she stepped in. Among the punk- br haired girls with hollowed eyes and pierced tongues br And boys with metal belts and shaven heads br She felt a little out of place, but then br She saw the glittering samples on the wall — br A rainbow-coloured magic land of fantasy br With wizards, dragons, lightning, thundrerbolts, br Warriors with blazing guns — “Pow! ” and “Blatt! ” — br Wild horses and women with bayonets and blasters, br Leaping, screaming, long tresses streaming, br Bare-thighed, wild-eyed, untrammelled, free… br And in the quiet places on the wall br Red roses richly entangled in thickets of thorns, br Loving hearts and limbs entwined in blossomed arbours br Where swallows and lovebirds go swooping and looping in play. br When her turn came, she chose a purple dragon, br Fork-tailed and fiercely snarling, spitting flame. br She did not think her father or late husband br Would have approved its presence on her arm br But “tough! ” At least she knew it would surprise br The maiden lady who brought her ‘meals-on-wheels’ br And if it didn’t, she had been rather taken br By those slender silver rods for pierced tongues.