My Poetry. Ode to My Man Bag.

I can't go anywhere without you, friend,
you're substantial in my life!
I feel absolutely naked without you near,
you're as crucial as my dear wife.

I fill you with the choicest goodies,
trapped in darkness for hours;
you keep my ripe bananas tip-top,
and protect my prawn salad from sudden showers.

My man bag is such a treasure,
I polish it with a microfibre cloth;
I'm so careful what I put inside you,
and certainly never any mouldy broth!

As the cheap deodorant rattles with pleasure,
and the leaky biros jump for joy,
I declare you can only go with a real man to work,
not a woman or a little boy! (They wouldn't understand).

I hope you last forever,
into my dusty golden age;
and if anyone dares to nick you,
I will throw a colossal, office-wide rage.

So clutch me tight, my portable domain,
my little leather, nylon friend;
we'll face this nine-to-five together,
until the glorious clock says END!

© William Sinclair Manson 2025