This was my last moment with Hat #2.
You fly off my head,
and land in the bay
drifting far, far away.
Captain calls for man overboard
She wants to circle five times with boat hook in hand
I tell her, some brother-in-law left it
at my house one weekend.
I don’t want to circle tirelessly.
Hat #1 left the same way;
We were in The Slot
A terrifying and exciting channel of currents and wind
Hat couldn’t take it,
A big gust came and off it went
Right about here in a poem, there’s some deep thought,
thus, the tiresome comparison:
Hats are like men.
Hat #1, Old Navy “020” printed on it
(Like I would sail around with some vintage baseball hat on my head)
Had no stick-withit-ness.
If “020” was an ex boyfriend, he would be the out of money DJ;
Cool but very cheap, and pretentious.
Hat #2, the “eagle-brand” hippie granola hat shown here
It’s like it knew that it was being talked about
We are sailing back into harbor, talking about Hat #1,
How it skipped town
And I refused to run after it, and,
In otherwise calm waters Hat #2 jumps ship.
Usual quibbling regarding man overboard.
Thing is, it’s like the hat knew, that if things got rough,
I wouldn’t go the extra mile.
What I miss are my hats;
What I need are hats that secure below the chin.