Crammed into a woman's purse
Are objects strange and varied
All the things she claims to need
That with her must be carried

Styled like a small suitcase
She handles it with pride
But every item placed therein
When needed seems to hide

Peek inside and you will find
Among the clutter there
A myriad of beauty aids
And things to fix her hair

Medications, some loose change
And credit cards galore
An army knife, two rings of keys
And a hundred items more

So why do women have the need
To carry all this stuff
Surely there is such a time
When enough becomes enough

This mystery bag of awkward size
We men do find amusing
But we will never understand
This practice so confusing

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