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# 4 x 6
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/4-x-6/
- Published: 2026-10-03T01:07:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-11-02T02:57:27.000Z
- Description: “4 x 6,” on the annoyance of living without pockets, and a rant on the limitations of a seemingly sexist Strict No Bag Policy at the local sports arena. Wrritten Friday, October 02, 2026 poem 275 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo: "No Purse, No Pockets: an exercise in
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Dry Humor, Faux Lament, Humor, Perimenopause, Poems, Rants, 4" x 6", Arena, Autumn, Fall, Friday, Frustration, Mandatory Purchasing, Minimalism, No Pockets, October, Rage, Safety, Security Policy, Security Theatre, Sexism, Venue, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

Always read the fine print   
with enough time to act.  
  
Underneath the headliner   
and the opening act  
and the date   
and the time  
and the seat number  
in tiny font, the arena declares:  
"Strict No Bag Policy  
Wallets of no more than 4" by 6" allowed."  
  
I grind my molars, growl.  
First they come for our pockets,  
now they come for our pocketbooks.   
The Patriarchy must fall!   
  
I waste an hour scouring   
the backs and upper shelves of closets  
unearthing off-season storage boxes  
palpating dark depths of wardrobe drawers  
and of all that I turn up,   
nothing comes close   
to being four inches by six inches.   
  
Everything I own is far bigger,   
and therefore useful and forboden,   
or far smaller, and therein  
both legal and without function.  
  
And I don't want a wristlet.   
I don't wish to have a heavy wallet   
thwacking against my arm  
every time I jump for joy   
at the next banger song on the set list.  
  
I want a crossbody bag.  
Big enough for my tissues  
for my external battery bank  
and my charging cord  
for my cough drops   
and ear plugs  
and lip balm  
and saucy red lipstick  
and my I.D.  
and my credit cards  
and my emergency cash  
and my ballpoint pen   
and my travel notebook  
and my car keys  
and my allergy-friendly snack bar  
and my hand sanitizer   
and my mace.   
But these creature comforts,   
and my wellbeing both,  
bystanders caught in the crossfire  
of security theatre.   
  
  
This venue knows,   
it must,   
that their clientele   
will show up to a pop concert  
in babydoll dresses   
and tiny skirts   
and micro hem hot shorts  
none of which come standard with cargo pockets.  
  
At my desk, I cut out a piece of paper  
to the specifications on the warning.   
I lay it on the table,   
alongside my phone.  
  
My iphone won't fit inside a wallet this size.  
My ballpoint pen is longer.  
My lip liner out-lengths the length;  
my purse-sized micro notebook out-widths it.   
  
I'm going to have to buy a micro pouch  
specifically for this one outing  
and it's not even going to suit my needs.  
I'll have to spend more money,   
and lose my emotional support items.  
A Female tax, this chafes of sexism.  
  
I pick up my oversize phone:  
with another grunt and an eyeroll,  
I navigate to the Big Overlord app  
where I spend another ninety minutes  
scrolling, measuring, reading reviews  
until I find a wallet on a cross-body strap  
for twenty bucks   
that can be overnighted to my house  
in time for me to over-stuff   
the zippered wallet to wear once.  
  
Depleted, resigned,  
I click "Buy Now"   
as I sell out, fold, to The Man.