Bag

Dog-eared tickets from midnight train rides
Soggy and tattered and red, mostly East Hills line
To see him, with the little nose and freckled back
And big cold feet shoved into beige slippers
Lidless glosses in ruby rouge and pastel pink
Fifteen ninety five for a bee-stung pout and a tingle in the lips
Mini brushes, sullied by blonde and black and brown hairs
Remnants of changes in heart and juvenile makeovers
Unfinished packets of gum, maybe I’ll be occupied
Maybe lose my appetite, maybe I won’t eat
Maybe then I’ll be perfect, but probably not