A few of my divorced friends
are getting tattoos.
One a teacup
mended in gold,
another patterns from Polynesian Isles.
I think of a Phoenix
rising from the ashes.
Or my Visa number
on my wrist
so I can shop online
without
finding
my wallet.
"But Lauren,"
you say,
"can't you just remember
your Visa number?
It is only
sixteen digits.
WTF?"
No.
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