A short piece dedicated to my father, Brian, who we recently laid to rest.

My Hat

“I want to buy you a hat”, he said one day.

“I bought your brother one;

I want to buy you one.” 

“Who needs a hat these days?” I wondered.

 

“There is hat shop near the station, downstairs,” he said.

“Choose any hat you want,

Then I’ll buy it for you.” 

“Who needs a hat these days?” I wondered.

 

Last November, at lunch, again he insisted,

“I bought your brother one,

 “I want to buy your hat.”

“Who needs a hat these days?” I wondered.

 

 In the shop, down the stairs at the station;

Pork pie, trilby’s, city hats,

Too many hats to choose.

“Who needs a hat these days?” I wondered.

 

“Something to protect me from the sun,” I  said,

“Rain, all the elements.

One of those farmer’s hats.”

“Who needs a hat these days?” I wondered.

 

It fitted well on my head, the farmers hat,

But at home I felt a fool,

a fraud,  a city slicker.

“Who needs a hat these days?” I wondered.

 

Since that day it has hung at home on its peg,

Each time I went fishing,

Never worn, clean and fresh.

“Who needs a hat these days?” I wondered.

 

The other day, I took the hat to the bush,

Chasing trout, in alpine streams.

It felt right, the farmers hat.

“Who needs a hat these days?” I wondered.

 

I do Dad. I need a hat to keep me safe,

to protect me from sun,

rain, all the elements.

 I need a hat these days Dad, I do.

 

 

 

(C)opyright  2019