Handbag

Handbag

 

“An empire

For an apple!”

he’d shout.

I didn’t know what he meant

by that,

still don’t.

 

His voice

grating,

like the sound of

burnt toast

on old dentures,

looking through

dirty skylights

into a starless sky.

 

The music grumbled

from my fathers

old 8 track player,

the sound?

Not so comforting.

 

“She’s easy on the eyes!”

he use to exclaim

after his nightly fifth of jack,

and all I could

do was smile.

 

Wondering,

how she put that wiggle

in her walk.

 

And where I could get

a handbag,

just like hers!