I Love Jim


I'm nervous as I shut the door.
Sweat drips from my forehead, make-up smeared.
I reach for my Liz Claiborne purse
In the mall's bathroom stall.
Arms tingling, I rip it open.
My right hand dives into an ocean
Of rosy lipsticks, compacts, Sax Fifth receipts, dimes, nickels,
Bobby pins, lip-liners, tampons, and Breath Savers.
The dark world attacks my clammy fingers,
And yet the brave explorers venture on.
They MUST clutch the treasure: a ballpoint pen--or at least a pencil.
At the pit of the purse,
They find the gold.
Excited fingers find the prize
And quickly remove it from the bag.
No one can see me, I hope.
Only trailer park trashy women do this, right?
But, I can't stop my hand,
Can't stop my hand from telling the world how much,
I love Jim!

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