When I got my first tattoo, I though my family would freak out. In some cases that might be accurate. As I have aged, I have collected several. Now my first tattoo is merely something I consider a cute little spot of ink.
In a way, I guess I covered some my scars with ink. That ink runs up and down both arm and on to my back. Even in this day and age of acceptance of tattoos, I still get the judgmental looks. Don’t think for a second it bothers me one bit. I am proud of my ink and the scars that they cover.
Many police departments require their officers to keep their tattoos covered. I guess that is their decision. If it were mine, I would say put them out there, let people know that behind that badge and under that uniform is still a human being. That is what inspired this poem.
This photograph is taken about three miles from my house. A small one lane bridge where the local artwork changes on a weekly basis. I love everything about that. The hardest thing about this poem was whether to spell Judgement or Judgment. Obviously I chose the later.
I can not thank you all enough for taking a look at Judgment Bridge. If you keep reading I will keep writing, good, bad, or indifferent. Either way, I am having a blast!