Science fiction is a religion for some people

I tattooed “so it goes.”

when I was 19 and drunk

on my left hand ring finger

I was laughing and alone

With a sewing needle

My red wine blood buzzed

So I couldn’t feel the poking

Mostly dragging

It’s blobbed now, like gravy

like Eddie’s sailor tattoos

taking a bath in the kitchen

From World War Two

He’s probably dead by now

in the kiddie pool on the roof

Oiled dandruff twirling around

the water’s skin

On the fourth of July

where he told us about the girls

In Korea, he had a picture of us

Pinned to the wall

So it goes.

My grandpa called me sexy

as I walked down the bent staircase

when I was twelve and I was stupid

He’s dead now, too.