My Marta’s yellow purse. My Marta is a mysterious daughter. She, as a girl (that’s Dad talk), or as a woman (everybody else’s pov) would have the normal human items such as an identification; different modes of payment such as cash, coins, credit cards and maybe even a checkbook; car keys; a pencil and pen; and minty mints. A woman (and very few men) would carry a lip stick; mascara; a hand mirror; safety pins; hand lotion; and bandaids. Then we have Our Marta (My Marta’s other TPL name). Oddnik items she carries would require stories only she could tell. She would be likely to carry a miniature kaleidescope; a glow-in-the-dark ghost keychain; an expired pay check; a broken crayon (blue or brown); two or three coasters from her most recent bar visits; a pair of horn-rimmed sunglasses; a decorative flower; a couple marbles; a bandana but not a banana; a bottle of vitamins; and an aromatic Christmas tree what hangs from a rear view mirror.
And then a little later, God-of-the-Angel-Armies spoke out again:
“Take a good, hard look at your life.
Think it over.
You have spent a lot of money,
but you haven’t much to show for it.
You keep filling your plates,
but you never get filled up.
You keep drinking and drinking and drinking,
but you’re always thirsty.
You put on layer after layer of clothes,
but you can’t get warm.
And the people who work for you,
what are they getting out of it?
a leaky, rusted-out bucket, that’s what.