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