My purse I carry, I carry around
holding all things — I'll tell you now
a comb, a brush
my gloss and hair jell, my pudding,
a dog and cat fight in my hat
as I uncover a really mean rat
my bed and my pillow, my car, a train
my notebook, keys, a bar, and a cane
all rolled up tight — and there's still more to be seen
a crow, and a scoop of ice cold ice cream
a mountain, a rock, a ball of cold snow
a very large clock, and a polka adot bow
a bag with a sandwich molded with crust,
but then I finally find my toy bus
I find things I haven't even seen before
I found a lock and dollhouse door
I even found candy from last Halloween,
my pet turtle Candice and some old kidney beans
a horse, a balloon, a crab and a band,
marching around waving their hands
My purse is alive, alive inside,
Jumping and screaming
My purse is just mine!
(Editorial commentary: A great purse, a great poem. I like how imaginative this poem is. That's a far out purse. Thank you, Jamie)
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