straw hat

I would never buy one, not at my
age, and I was never a
hat man anyhow
but then
that’s what wives are for:
to give you the courage to
dive into unchartered
waters.

“go on, go on in,” said my
wife.

I went on into the shop and she
followed.
there were straw hats
everywhere, all colors and
sizes.

I tried on a black, walked to
the mirror, looked like a killer
and, of course, liked that
but
returned the hat
anyhow.

“here,” said my wife,
“try this…”

I tried it. not
bad.   then
another.   not
bad.

I decided on two.
holy   hell.

I liked the clerks, they were
totally
disinterested.

“should I put them in a
bag?” one of the clerks
asked.

“a box,” I answered.

then
my wife came around the corner,
smiling, wearing a tall
straw hat.
she looked much better than
I.
she looked
cute.
beautiful.

“get it,” I
said.

“should I?”

“of course.”

so we walked out of there with
our new straw
hats
and we walked them
to the car
put them
in their boxes
on the back
seat
and it was a good drive
in
under the low
cloud
like that,
nothing wrong at
all.
very strange and
totally
acceptable.

and I never would have
worn the black
anyhow.