(For Mulberry and for Bex)

A bag is a bag

Is a receptacle, a container

Of leather, plastic, cloth or paper,

Capable of being closed at the mouth.

It started with the Viking bagge you pack your pillage in,

Became Burglar Bill’s over-the-shoulder swag,

Or the brown bag of moonshine to drink under the stars;

Or the place where late the cat was waiting patiently to exit

Or frankly a mixed one of curate’s eggs,

Rucked, duffelled and toted.

Don’t forget that bag of bones, the woman who’s just gotta have Alexa,

The It-Bag apparently,

(So my sources tell me,

Unless it was a typo and actually she said ‘kit bag’)

And if any wanted proof of our baggage bonkersness

And the sublime triumph of irrationality in human behaviour,

Let them visit Mulberry.

But afterwards, watch out for an unexpected Bayswater[1] in the bagging area.