Race to Erase Me

To the parlour we slink
With skin as thin as silk,
To become as dark as mink fur:
Gone out like an oil spill at midnight.

Tat me asian like a lemon going sour.
Tat me african like a raisin going sweet.
Tat me caucasian like good milk gone bad.
Tat me until blood runs deep with smudges.

From the pain parlour we stagger,
Skin riddled bloody and jagged,
We’re scarred illustrations, with a swagger:
Embracing kin, to be men without skin.

Soft canvas surfaces, colorful scabs,
Rush as one to throw light on our blindness.