I go through handbags like Drake goes through girlfriends.
Like Drake, if we’re real I’m not too good to them.
I exhaust them, fill them with sharp objects and sling them around
until the handles give and I go back to buy whatever’s closest to the door
in Dorothy Perkins or Accessorize, anything as long as the fastening
looks solid and there’s room for my laptop.
One of the security officers at work called me The Girl
with the Green Handbag for the five months I had one.
When I replaced it with a tan satchel he took it personally.
After the tan satchel came a red PVC TK Maxx messenger bag
with big buckles. One time on the tube an elegant thing with the same
model in cream saw me with mine, my knackered
trainers and cutoff t-shirt. I watched her struggle,
eyes flicking from the buckles to my trainers
to my breasts in an ever more panicky circle.