His hair, long, caressed by wind,
Dark as the feathers of crows,
Hanged proudly on his wide
Sculptured shoulders.
As soon as he appeared in your way,
You couldn't help asking yourself
If he was real or just walking David,
Michelangelo's famous statue.
A statue perfectly finished
In all its details, from the peak
Of the head, till the sole of his foot.
But even David, the statue,
Would envy the beauty of this
Other body.
His walk radiated strength and power
Confidence and respect.
Girls were adoring him and
Would have done anything to
Just to be seen by his side.
They used to call him 'the lion'.
Leon. Leon was tender and sweet
He never showed this side of his
But to the ones he really loved.
One day, he was offered to get a tattoo
For free, just to let the artist
Make a picture with this tattoo
On his muscular, imposing body,
For his advertising in Tattoo magazine..
So Leon got himself on the right arm
A lion, a mythic yellow lion
With the mouth wide opened.
Now, after twenty years,
The lion yawns on his hand,
The fur is poor and mate,
The color dull,
While the tattoo hangs pitifully
On his arm, lazy pushing the cart
Full of weekend grocery shopping
To his standard Honda,
In the parking of a 24/7
Grocery store.
His wife left him as soon
As the lion on his arm
Wrinkled away.
He had a regular job,
A regular bachelor
A regular car,
The sadness on his face
Strikes me,
Just a regular man..
With a sad tattoo
A graphic vestige of a more
Promising time.