It is hard for even me to remember
that there once was a time when
every man wore at hat, whether
a simple watch cap or Greek
fisherman’s hat, a fedora to be
avoided if you value your life,
a bowler of great propriety.

I wear a simple Nepalese hat
a reversible pillbox style, and actually
I have a dozen in various colors,
and they draw more comments
than I ever would, often taken
for a kufi, and I have brothers
from other worlds now, despite
the gulf of colors and histories
which in that moment are bridged.

And no one imagines that it
is more than a fashion statement
since no one gets to ask the few
lonely hairs that still cling
to my ever more barren scalp.

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