Poetry by Michele Sharpe

Adrien Millet CC



Bargaining with a Dangerous Man’s Tattoo 
 
Your canvas, paroled last year, has a newborn daughter, one reason
I keep taking his calls besides the fact he’s flesh and blood.
She’s wriggling pink and darkly flushed like a worm
 
On a hook. Unlike her, or her father, your book is written, sir.
You’ll stay a death cult skull, no matter how much skin you cover.
Her father, me and him don’t always get the why
 
Of what each other says, but we always get the how –  
Politics, he says, is a cottonmouth with a hundred
Skins, and I get it. But when I say Snakes outgrow
 
Their skins, so why can’t you, he hoists one arm and points to you,
Mr. Prison Gang Totenkopf tattoo, and says you’re for life.
I’ll concede you’re a sentence he won’t cut short if you
Don’t rub off on his daughter, his daughter, his daughter.   
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Michele Sharpe, a poet and essayist, is also a high school dropout, hepatitis C survivor, adoptee, and former trial attorney. Her essays appear in venues including The New York Times, The Washington Post, and Poets & Writers. Poems are recently published or forthcoming in Sweet, The Mom Egg Review, Rogue Agent, and Salamander. She lives in North Florida.
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