Atop the cranium, it sits,

Thinking briskly of its life,

And what it might be there to do.

Surely, yes, some bald people are grateful,

As are the ones who have had the misfortune—

Of an awful stylist,

Or someone with a rude stick of gum,

But does a cloud blocking the sun from us,

Feel happy in that purpose?

Is there a reason for the hat to sit where it does?

And not be worn as a shoe?

It ponders this and wonders,

If hats add much to fashion,

Enough to justify its place,

Upon the crown of humankind.

It wonders this a lot,

For what else does it have to do?

It’s a hat,

It sits on heads.

That’s all it has in life.

–

Special thanks to: Melissa Potter

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