Battle of the handbags

I came first, I took my place.
Two stops later, you showed your face.
Place was squeezy, human arms galore.
Your owner kept pushing, fighting for more (space).
While I kept compromising, trying to make way.

There came a point, I couldn't stand it anymore.
My owner gave me a big tug,
And shoved you in the heart.

The sparring stops.
Both stand motionless.
You walk off with your owner.
Once again, I have become the sole bystander.
Of arms and armpits
And more bags galore.
Tomorrow again,
It's battle of the handbags once more.

[Inspiration for this so-called attempt at a poem came about because everyday, as I commute the MRT, I deal with horrible women, who use their bags to push their way around and do not even offer an apology. Rather than bitch about it, thought I would find a more creative way to express myself.]