The Hat

Leathery, always there

As if twisted from his head-skin

It was his second presence

Although it kept its independence

Courtesy dictated

Its removal in a room

But it waited and it lurked

A dislocated part of him

Imbued with its wearer's foibles

But visibly itself

Now what tales could that hat tell

If allowed to speak its mind?

When the wearer smiled

The hat smiled

When the wearer sang

The hat sang

When the wearer raged

So did the hat

It was a fizzing mirror

Of all the wearer's moods

That hat has done its time

Flayed by the changing weather

Its skin its own barometer

Dragged through heat and wet and cold

Forced to do its job

Accepting its role to ensure the head

Was cool or dry or warm

But then things changed

And later on the hat was never seen

Crowded out by illness

And too large to fit

Too stiff to shrink as the head shrank

Its outdoor instincts not required

Within the sterile white-clean walls

Of a four-square hospital room

And did the spirit of the hat

Accept the concept of a death

And breathe farewell through every pore?

Or did it merely sulk

Its loyalty betrayed by silence?

The hat did not get burnt as well

The hat did not get buried too

The rumour is it made its mind up

Made a clear decision

To submit to disintegration

Go spreading out

Moving back in time

Moving back to filaments

A spider's web not made of silk

But spun from the leather from the head

And gradually dispersing

Unravelling like a life's story

Following its leader

Heading out

Strand by strand

Moment by moment

Back to the great outdoors

Following its leader

To a place that some call heaven