Tattoo

This Marriott in the foothills

has a heated indoor pool

empty on a December weeknight,

no lifeguard on duty.

My husband sips a beer

we snuck past the lobby.

He wants to get the tattoo

he’s been planning since

his remission:

the radiation symbol

with its yellow and black

fan blades. Right on his shoulder.

A lot of skin

I think I should have a say over.

Would I ever get one?

He knows what I’ll say.

Something discreet,

on an ankle,

a sleeve tat maybe

inside the biceps

but one where the phrase

disappears inside the shirt cuff.