The Red Hat

Thomas Musgrove, The Red Hat
Thomas Musgrove, The Red Hat

The Red Hat

 

My pretty chapeau

wringing-wet and

water-logged, 

a broken feather spine,

is no longer a brilliant red

as pink dye drips 

down the side

of my cheek.

 

Out of eagerness to 

show off my new topper,

I paid no mind

to that gloomy nimbus

glaring down at me.

The torrential downpour

spared me no mercy, 

nor my lovely red hat.

 

2 thoughts on “The Red Hat

  1. Your poem brings to my mind of group of ladies (there may be some men involved, but I’ve never met them) who call themselves “The Red Hat Society”. They have no redeeming value, as I see it, they just like to get together for tea in their red hats and talk about whatever ladies in red hats talk about these days.

    Thanks for the post.

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