The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Dan Campion

Fedora

Your straw fedora, picked up on a whim,

looked jaunty on or off, its navy blue

silk ribbon hugging crown above the brim,

whose rake befit a skeptic’s point of view.

It hadn’t cost a lot, was almost free,

in fact, one of those bargains we’d confess

felt satisfying as Algonquin tea

with sandwiches of creams and watercress.

The hat sits on your dresser, catching sun.

I see you put it on again and give

the brim a tug, the crown a tap, the one

that shows, no need for mirrors, where you live.

Lit by the sherbet lights of evening,

that gesture has become part of the thing.