She never went to the new superstore, <br />her local cost less, 'Cheap Stake' bought her more. <br />Rarely she glanced at each cool display stand, <br />cheaper each week, always lesser-known brands. <br /> <br />Dredged from the depths of her worn purse, she found <br />a lining of coins, pathetic, her mound. <br />A meagre supply she clutched, in her bag, <br />denied shops' bounty, or trolly-weight drag. <br /> <br />Pausing, so briefly, by warm Paper Shop, <br />certain she could not, afford now, to stop. <br />Her dreams left untouched, with lottery card, <br />her bills were chance-paid, reminders hit hard. <br /> <br />She reached home depressed and slammed shut the door, <br />groceries unpacked, still spartan her store. <br />Pan-boiled, her cuppa, a tin-meal unmade, <br />flicked radio switch and heard of a raid. <br /> <br />A great haul taken, the shop down her road, <br />a full day’s takings, so massive their load. <br />She muttered, to hear her own doorbell ring, <br />slammed chain-locks aside, and let the door swing. <br /> <br />A young man, polite, discussed charity, <br />she fumbled with purse, but knew he could see. <br />Some paper he pushed, bare, into her hand, <br />“I’m Robin, ” he breathed. “Just one of the Band.” <br /> <br />Purple, brown papers attracted her eye, <br />puzzled, she looked up, to wish him 'Goodbye'. <br />Yet there was no-one, in place where he'd stood, <br />just glimpsed, down the road, the back of a hood.<br /><br />Wendy Webb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-empty-purse/
