The confession came in chunks, like spoiled milk.
Dorothy took her son to one side, her coarse hand
resting on his shoulder, beside her forearm tattoo reading
Yo, I've Definitely Killed A Tiger So Don't Mess With Me
in tasteful calligraphic script, beneath an image
of her driving a railroad spike through a bengal tiger's skull,
Xs in its eyes and its tongue lolling. (a second tattoo
bore the legend 100% True Story!!! alongside an arrow,
pointing to the first)
'I... I don't know how to tell you this, but...'
The words sticking in her mouth,
her tiger facepaint beginning to run.
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