Explaining My Tattoo
(In a form innovated by Lester Graves Lennon)
Stignatz. It’s a mouse, you sabby? Stignatz
Mouse. Stigmatic pin scratch. Mouse
yet not a mouse. A peanut bellicose yet
errant bastard from a folio of errant
whimsy—miscreant o’ concrete whimsy,
brick and mortar and a inky little prick.
Ain’t no canine constable to deal with. Ain’t.
Lurk low in lachrymose, in mirror lurk.
Usurp the yardarm of the afternoon, usurp.
Around the corner. Maybe:“Kop”. A round
obstruction shadowing the path’s obstruction.
Desert moon, the bastard’s just desserts.
Cat man do his damndest, ain’t no cat.
Rat man in the flesh. Remember: Rat.
Call me Mr. Stignatz, Kat. The catcall
rings in echo sleeve, in ostrich pant leg rings
determined to transgress, but Stignatz is determined,
jerk-off cop-or-not, to not exist. Jerk.
by Rick Mullin
Editor’s Note: Hello wordplay! Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming to visit my inbox. I’m not kop, and I ain’t no cat, so pull up a chair.
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