The ultimate handbag checklist.
Keys, door, shed, garage, car. . .
adult hood at 16, 18 and
again at 21.
Lipstick in various shades
of mood from scarlet lust,
to blushing pink and nude
swallow me whole.
A hair brush carrying
enough DNA to create
a genetic army
Two snapped hairbands
a rusted hair clip bend
as you will kirby grips
and a fraying I’m your
only choice hair tie.
Panty liners, towels and tampons…sporadically
but never when needed.
A mirror smeared in the
grime of reality
Pocket tissues harbouring
last seasons man flu
and the melted remnants
of throat lozenges.
Body spray, empty.
The perfume your great
aunt Margaret brought
back from the second hand
booty, full.
A Biro covered in thick,
slick black ink.
A lifetimes worth of good
luck pennies shrouded by
a paper chain of the who’s,
where’s and when’s.
A purse and the hope of the
queen herself blessing my
lonesome bag,
alas, a ‘mum’ keyring and
the tinny rattle of silver 5 pences.
The gentle innocence
of her ten year old
eyes sparkling as
she reaches for her hand bag. . .
Lego figures, check.
Karen Hayward ©2017