My Blue-Pink Bag

 My bag is blue and pink,

like a sycophant singing praises of boys and girls.

My bag is a hypocritical array of shade,

can’t be trusted to fit one gender.

Its wide mouth opens to swallow pieces of fabric

thrown in like cellmates.

But when you try to find them,

a puzzle forms you cannot unwind.

Only by pulling out one piece at a time

can you find the one piece of fabric you need.

My bag is beautiful and functional,

but sometimes it scares my blood pressure,

just thinking how I’ll search it for a cloth I threw in once.


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