tattoo

he's inked their names
on his upper back
in a flashy sort of font.

as if carrying them like this
makes up for all the ways
he has let them down.

my desire to claw them
off of you is tempered by
the knowledge that you
never really held them,

by the finger-printy card our
son made at school, already
promised to someone else,

how our daughter will perform,

the whole world in her hands,

not noticing the place you aren't.