the sweet-voiced young 

man, cap on backwards, 

body covered in tattoos, 

came to the car, carried

in my donation. when I

told him I liked his tats, 

he smiled and revealed

they told a story, his

story. a superhero on his 

calf and a baby angel on his 

biceps. first letters of his 

brothers and sisters and 

nieces and nephews on 

his knuckles and more 

stories on his neck. 

the ankle monitor told 

another tale, but I didn’t

inquire. we all have stories 

that make us who we are. 

some we share and some 

we do not. before I left, 

he said “I appreciate you.” 

as I drove off, I sent an 

appeal to the universe that 

the remainder of his story 

be as sweet as his voice.