Musings in the Anti-Tattoo Parlor

Hello.
My dad gets tattoos removed and
I sit in the waiting room
staring at the typical
unnoticeable
wall paper
and passing an occasional eye
over the plump, mentally fettered
office muffin
baking her hours away in
easy boredom-death,
piercing her hollow eyes
through the double off-white doors
that only would lead to other
unnoticeable
jobs and tasks and
printers and pictures of the kids-
how long has she worked here?
she can’t recall
waddling through the
off-white labyrinth
so simple to understand
yet so hard to
escape from.
Like tattoos.
Goodbye.