An old bar called
The Rose Tattoo
flew in from the past.
The flat blue outline of floret
appeared on an imaginary arm, filled
with that dank red
only pink flesh
could hold.
I hadn’t heard
Tangled Up in Blue
in ten years.
Early one morning
some redhead
flicked on the radio
in a local bodega
and the whole tale
sang out from both
our mouths.
We didn’t even
know each others’
names.
