She left her slipper in my flat last week
(a ragged, woolly, bobbled job, right foot),
as well as a capacious purse-like thing
which spilled a pack of Nuttall’s Mints, and cards
for libraries in Monmouth, Gloucester, Stroud,
a photograph of Kerouac, bus pass,
a lipstick in a torrid crimson shade
(not seen her wear it yet), a paperknife,
a pack of cards (she plays odd poker games),
a discount coupon, Murphy’s Beers and Wines.
A small appointment card. Her E.C.G.
If you have any comments on this poem, Robert Nisbet
would be pleased to hear from you.