New Bag
It moulded to my shoulder
comfortable, but worn
a little ragged really,
but a friend.
I would stuff it with spare knickers,
tissues, lipstick too,
some pain killers, in case
and a small picture of you.
There was sticky tape and tweezers,
cleansing cream for face
and just in case my breath smelled foul
a toothbrush and toothpaste.
So what was I to do, or say
I swallowed hard and sighed
when you sang Happy birthday,
it was so hard not to cry
for on the table, in a box,
tied up with pretty string,
a brand new bag, designer brand,
that wouldn't hold a thing.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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