Today I lost my hat.
My new hat –
lovingly hand knit
by my very good friend
warm, soft,
her hands protecting my head
from winter’s bitter chill,
left,
on a train
going fast to St Albans.
It was brown, you know.
The most amazing wool, with a
big wooden button at the top right hand side
(depending on how you wore it)
so as I walked down the street
I could tell people were thinking,
“Who is that man with the stylish hat?”
(or something like that anyway!)
It was found, of course,
by someone.
I hope it was found by
someone who would wear it;
who wouldn’t see it as a health hazard
who didn’t pick it up with a metal stick
and drop it into a plastic bag.
That’s what I thought.
Then, on the way back,
a most amazing thing…
I must have caught the exact same train!
Because there on the seat in front of me
just lying there – untouched –
was
a mirage.
Then when I got off at Tulse Hill
the place was swarming with cops!
They had obviously been scouring London for my hat;
They were lining up to greet me
and present me with it.
But no.
They simply moved out of my way
and carried on talking among themselves.
And so I had to walk home hatless
comforted only by a packet of
fruit pastilles from the
co-operative.
But now I have a ray of hope.
My friend, Sara, told me to tweet the train co.
And they told me to complete the lost property form.
Maybe we’ll all see our hats again someday.