To call it secret may sound redundant, but hidden, invisible, or out of sight have less charm. When trying to invite money— scratch a palm and slide it in. Bad manners to keep both hands in, shrug, and shuffle about. It should be larger than a reticule—large enough to hold phone, whistle, pepper spray. Without one, the body becomes a little more serviceable: armpits, groin, space between the breasts. Turn out every single one in each closet and find gas receipts, stale gum, small fortune in nickels and dimes. Inset, inseam, jetted, welted, patched— fold a letter into a tiny square that won't turn to lint.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.