Tree City Tattoo (Round 2)
Let’s workshop this narrative poem about a man reflecting on a tattoo that serves as a symbolic anchor to his past, reminding him of old times shared with his cousins (before one or more of them died)
scent of the day: Incendo, by La Curie (a pine-forest-on-fire perfume)
Tree City Tattoo —for Randy, Dave, and Matt The chuckles during those final zaps to my scapula I sensed were nothing next to what had been caged by collective effort at merciful composure. I drifted, my nonchalance slick as a wind-neurotic combover, to the bathroom for a look at how it had turned out: the tattoo that would become, I did not realize then, a fading anchor for the orbits of multiple timelines; a wormhole to pre-fentanyl days when all three of us still took breath. What worried me, what factored in to my paranoid intuition, was that everyone there— Dave, the self-sworn “ink master” with a loaner gun (prone to spark and cut off, to buck and grow too hot), and our two cousins—bickered the whole damn time about how to do the Beacon dummy light, at times wresting the gun from one another for a stab at it. Did those three, or at least those two less at fault, cast each other that telepathic look—owning the botchery— as I locked mirrored eyes with mute shakes of disbelief? Did their levees break meanwhile, sidesplitters stifled into blunt-blamed coughs at my return? Confessional as “wu-banger oowops” will turn teens, what restraint must have been mustered as I—hepatitis-C stricken, for all I knew—lied at the threshold: “Shit look dope!” A few beach seasons later, time healed enough for me to laugh openly with them. “Dave jacked my shit up!” Did Dave later laugh with them, if not at the outset? Lit that night, starter gun snagging like dull clippers— I do not see why not. Or did Matt and Randy forever spare him—as I do, our meetings now rare? The last was the funeral. He asked me, “Still got that tatt yo?”
Let's workshop this poem Tree City Tattoo about the shared experience of youthful recklessness and the bonds forged through mistakes, now tinged with the weight of loss and memory. The speaker recalls getting a tattoo—a tribute to a simpler, pre-fentanyl time—done by his cousin(s), whose lack of skill resulted in a flawed, but emotionally significant, piece. The tattoo serves as a symbolic "anchor" for multiple timelines, a reminder of the past when all three friends were alive. The speaker reflects on the botched tattooing process, where the friends—particularly Dave, the amateur tattoo artist—clashed over the design, injecting both literal and metaphorical sparks into the situation. Despite the botched result, the speaker reassures the others, "Shit look dope!" masking the immediate disappointment with humor and camaraderie. The poem evolves into a meditation on time and loss, as the speaker eventually learns to laugh about the tattoo’s imperfection, but only after the deaths of two friends—Matt and Randy—have deepened its significance. The final scene, where Dave asks, "Still got that tatt yo?" at a funeral, brings the poem full circle, capturing the bittersweet intertwining of youthful folly, enduring friendship, and the inevitable passage of time. The poem poignantly explores how memories, even flawed ones, tether us to lost loved ones and formative moments.
"Tree City Tattoo" navigates themes of memory, grief, and male camaraderie through the lens of a shared experience in getting a tattoo. The poem depicts the speaker's reflection on a tattoo that, unbeknownst to him at the time, becomes a significant marker of both a personal and communal history. It explores the way objects and experiences, such as tattoos, serve as anchors for memories, not only of events themselves but also of the people involved—especially those lost to death or addiction. The poem intertwines the ritual of tattooing with notions of mortality, particularly when referencing the "pre-fentanyl days," alluding to the opioid crisis and its tragic consequences for the speaker's cousins.
The poem’s tone fluctuates between dark humor and melancholic introspection. The speaker recalls how, during the session, the tension and inadequacy of the tattoo process—symbolized by Dave’s unreliable tattoo gun—reflect the shaky foundation of their relationships. The group dynamic is sketched through the speaker’s uneasy awareness of the bickering and botched tattoo, suggesting that the superficial act of getting inked belies deeper fractures in their connections. The speaker’s paranoia about the tattoo’s quality morphs into a larger sense of insecurity and disbelief, culminating in his “nonchalance” upon confronting the final product in the mirror. His forced reaction—“Shit look dope!”—becomes a gesture not just of self-deception but also of solidarity, as he spares his friends the embarrassment or guilt they may feel over the outcome.
Time, however, brings perspective. The speaker grows able to laugh about the experience in retrospect, recognizing the botched tattoo as an emblem of the imperfections in their lives, their bonds, and their mortality. The reference to "beach seasons later" evokes a passing of time that allows for healing, yet the losses of his cousins Randy and Matt—presumably to addiction, as hinted by the reference to fentanyl—create an enduring undercurrent of sorrow. The final interaction with Dave, now at Randy or Matt’s funeral, encapsulates the poem’s meditation on how the past continues to ripple through the present. The tattoo, initially a casual endeavor, becomes a symbolic relic of lives intertwined by both laughter and tragedy.
Ultimately, "Tree City Tattoo" juxtaposes the ritual of a tattoo—permanent in ink but fading over time—with the fragility of life and relationships. The tattoo’s significance grows as the people involved in its creation are lost to time, and the speaker’s final reflection on whether the tattoo still exists mirrors the uncertainty of memory, survival, and the legacies we leave behind.
tattoo, memory, mortality, opioid crisis, fentanyl, male camaraderie, loss, grief, bickering, ritual, permanence, imperfection, reflection, funeral, shared experience, legacies, nostalgia.