I did something the other night not done in an age; socialised with friends. Then I did something never done before ever: forgot my hat. Once, I didn’t even like hats; though that’s another story, for that it was a hat is neither here nor there; the point being, I’d hitherto never lost or mislaid an item of personal attire. Some thoughts on the grim calamity:
Getting old is
Having a hat
That is really liked
And then
For whatever reason
It wears out
Or gets lost
Due to the ever
Increasing forgetfulness
So you go
To buy a new one
Only to find
That exact hat
The one of such
Great and familiar
Comfort
Isn’t made anymore
Confronting one
With the timely reality
Hat today
Gone tomorrow
Luckily the hat was returned, but not until after the horror of going to put it on, only to find it was nowhere to be found had been endured and this anguished verse penned. Visitors to this page can read assured that though I might be seen out and about in an old hat post this post, events as relayed are based on truth, not an almost-forgetting-of-a-hat-only-to-remember-it-at-the-last-second that had a cunning and underhanded pen-smith think, ‘aha, here is a subject to be exaggerated grandly for the pulling of heartstrings!’
More tickles for your fancy:
- I want to lick your face
- Zen vs. the Art of Consistency
- Sentimentality and its awkward role in poetry
- Fruit Baskets; a damning indictment
Thanks for reading 🙂
N. P. Ryan
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Header image courtesy Thgusstavo Santana