Tattoo Man

Written for:  Sunday Whirl, Wordle #522

Words:  walk, thundering, tattoo, forest, small, covet,
        seven, blunder, leathery, elves, doves, umbrella

Tattoo Man walks into
the forest, coveting
nature's scents 
and sounds.  Small
pair of cooing doves
fly past.  At last
he is alone.  Not even
the Keebler elves
are in sight.  His skin
is leathery, burnt by
working seven years in
company of the sun.  Thunder
blast the air.  He thinks,
what a blunder I have made–
trusting the weather, carrying
no umbrella.  He smiles. 
Realizes that rain is 
an important part of nature.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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