I Played a Game at the Gas Station

I played a game
As I waited for you in the car.
I slipped my right hand
Into my cavernous handbag,
fingertips dredging the bottom.

I cradled small things,
Reading the truth in their shapes
With my eyeless palm.
A fleshy, dimpled cork,
pocket knife with dirty hinge,
A lavender plastic lighter.
It’s smooth like a seashell 
as I tap it with my fingernail.

I push my thumb against the 
Pocket knife handle, the lighter casing,
Marking them as mine 
with oils from my own skin.
All my little vices.
Would you love me in spite of them?

I see you through the gas station window, 
Counting change for your drink.
My hand retreats into my lap
As you open the car door
And smile for me, ignorant of
Cork, knife and lighter.