I saw this hat in a shop and tried it on. It instantly looked as if the hat was wearing me instead of the other way round, reminding me of the fateful time I once had a hat that was attacked by a small dog, who wouldn’t let it go until it was sure it had killed it. I still see versions of the hat in the poem and inevitably try them on with the same result. I really wish I could wear that hat instead of that hat wearing me.
THE HAT
This hat demands
Someone with a strong personality
To stand under its brim.
Someone who always walks
Down the middle of the pavement.
Who only ever patronises
High class establishments
Selling hats of good breeding.
This hat wants someone
Who always carries an umbrella.
Who never ducks into the nearest Pub
For strong drink and a bag of crisps
To sustain them, and who would never
Hang this hat on the back of a chair
To be attacked by a small Pomeranian.
After that, this hat felt so ill-used and abused
It demanded a new owner.
Very well! If you insist!
But you just wait and see.
You’ll not get very far without me.
Obviously, the hat shrugged its brim,
Clearly didn’t believe a thing I had to say.
Calmly murmured that from here on in,
It would make its own way.
The last I saw of that very superior hat,
It was waltzing out of the door
On a very superior head.
Hmmm. Pure luck of the draw, I said.
© Gwen Grant
Poems by Gwen Grant 