WHAT EVERY WOMAN SHOULD CARRY
After
Maura Dooley My mother warned me not to encourage beggars.
Still I carry small coins, sorted by size
and currency, towelettes, Naprogesic,
a baggage lock (the keys missing). Optimistic
of a morning after, my spectacles.
As backup, number for a taxi. Room key.
Note from a fortune cookie. A dictionary,
translating between you-speak and my-speak,
I misplace on purpose. Lipstick.
A pack of Gauloise. His wordless eyes,
my philanthropy, my impenetrable heart.
The tender spot on my thigh. The impression of teeth.
2 February 2012
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