A good friend
spends his weekends
liberally applying
bacon grease to his arms
and drawing swirls in it.

He stinks.  He plays with the patterns
constantly.  He leaves stains
on everything.  He’s always happy.
He calls himself
the pig tattoo king.

Yes,
it’s odd.  But I’ve met
people
who swill money
like chocolate, coat themselves
in dirty metals pulled from the ground,
smell like rare flowers
crippled with salt,
build small honesty into huge lies
to keep people guessing
and off balance.

What you see is what you get with him.
That’s more than you can say about a lot of folks.