The temp tattoo seems so real,
Stylish patterns of body art,
Having a certain aesthetic appeal,
Surprising the soul, with a start.
The canvas is the human skin,
A skillful pattern I obtain,
Showing a modern fashion spin,
Temporal appearance is the stain.
Like a sand painting ritual,
The picture is a passing twist,
A behavior not just habitual,
But vanishing like the morning mist.
Nature’s dunes have such design,
Across the ripples of a sandy hill,
Changing with the winds of time,
Beauty’s objects are not here still.
The temp tattoo will erase,
Events fade and lose their place.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.