I won’t go back to Nebraska
She said as she sold me a hat
There’s more of the world here in Newtown
And that, my man, is a fact
The hatband grabbed my attention
Rasta red, yellow and green
Then the shape, pattern, colour and pricing
Completed the hat of my dreams
Perfectly weighted for tossing
To catch on the head with one spin
Light, black and slight logoed by Dior
Graced with a snappy short brim
I’d rather pump gas in Alaska
She said as she rang up the sale
Than be seen as a whore or a servant
By white folk who should be in jail
The hat looks very becoming
It suits your twinkling blue eyes
Here’s a card with my name and number
If there’s anything you’d like to try
We smiled and hand-shook each other
As I jauntily bade her farewell
Bouncing and buzzing down King Street
Like a twenty-first century swell
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