The hat shall not be worn, from this day forth
It lies dormant and subdued
Tattered, elastic teetering on its edge:
Teeth marks around the fringe.

Headwear to restrict, to confine at first,
Had become flaccid and comfortable
So much so that it’s owner became immune to its presence
A second layer of hair, membranes to remember-
Precisely, the effects.

Purpose, intention, audience
And always a deep ‘hum’ sliding down each hair follicle
Trickling lovingly, albeit hideously into the ears.

This hat, this hat
And to think it was herself that bought it in the first place!
Tight-fitting, professional- the perfect mask
To trap the black, the nausea, the upside-down men.

But soon it realized its capabilities transcended such meager thoughts
Instead, it lengthened its ribbons, bright and velvety, serpentine
To coat and cover and choke the eyes.
Arrest! Arrest! Indeed, it was a crime.
But no one noticed, in time, in time.

The hat became one with mind, with body
It could control… things.
Like- the time at which the wearer brushed her teeth,
Or- the specific emotion which one would wear
(Anger, a neatly pressed suit)
Until, the tendrils of straw had grown so fat and confident
That they stretched down over the mouth and nostrils.

The hat(e). The hat(e).

And to this day, one can see the little scratch marks in the fibre
The loose threads
The gnawed heads
Of the ribbon.

The wearer, face pale and unassuming
Can lie back now.