3.9 Old Grey Hat

by Eric Chaet

I found this battered
old grey hat
on a street in Wichita—
picked it up
& put it on my head.
It was the middle
of the winter,
middle of the night—
I had a bad case
of loneliness,
frostbite,
& that kind of fright
you get
when you drift into another strange city
on a highway you’ve been hitching on too long.

I don’t know how a thing like this
can cheer a battered old grey soul,
but it picked my spirit right up off the sidewalk.
It was the middle of the winter,
middle of the night—
I had a bad case of neither young or old,
no one to get angry at, & no one to hold—
like you get when you refuse to be
lost & worthless as people take you to be,
’cause they’ve forgotten what they were born to be,
& you won’t be any less than.

I found this battered old grey hat
on a street in Wichita—
I picked it up & put it on my head.
It was the middle of the winter,
middle of the night—
I was accusing me of loneliness,
afraid that they were right—
but now I wear this old grey hat
to light the way I’ve just begun to get sight of.

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Picture: NOAA