Going Out Bag

GOING OUT BAG

Crumpled in a corner,
Contents strewn across the table.
Every fag burn, tells a story,
Every stain, a morning glory.

And it’s got the same old shit, lighter and lipstick.
Same old lines, ragged round the edges,
Pulled its way through hedges,
With the same old shit, lighter and lipstick.

And it always finds its way home,
And it never asks questions, tactful suggestions.

A silent provider.
A closet insider.

Another night on the tiles,
High heels and painful smiles.

Clutching the same old shit, lighter and lipstick.
Hailing a cab, vaping, no fag.
A zillion messages on my phone.
Relieved but messy,
I crawl home.

Still with the same old shit, lighter and lipstick.

Rain check on the shag.

My going out bag.