bruised cufflinks, scarred trousers
bleeding ties, marks of violence bear
featherless fedora, kicked-in once too often
lumps and bumps seen ‘midst thinning hair
life in the cosa nostra’s romanticized
~ eviction notices served traumatized
An old-time poster caught my eye
In an antiques shop where I like to browse.
On seeing it, you might ask why,
So I’ll tell you, long as rhyme allows.
First, the colors pop and its retro look,
With a smiling man in an old-style hat,
Made me grin and that was all it took
To think, “Gee, I’d like to purchase that.”
It’s a transit ad from a dry-clean place
Where, for sixty-nine cents (don’t be shocked!),
You could bring in your hat and within that space,
It would be not just cleaned, but also blocked.
There’s a come-on, too, with a jaunty phrase:
“Perk and pep-up that old Fedora.”
Now, perhaps you will get all the many ways
That I love it - need I say more, uh?
• Red and black checkered shoes
• To go with my fedora
• I must look my best for a girl named Aurota
My cat eats food.
Not all at once like he would prefer.
Late at night, he scurries back for more.
Standing by a lake.
It’s frozen.
Snow is frozen too, but softer.
Is it a lake anymore?
If it isn’t alive with fish and litter?
Melancholy.
Is…
What we all feel sometimes.
When we are forgetful, and mourning, and we don’t eat breakfast.
Walking slowly, but not on cracks.
Far away and forgotten.
Like that dime I left at the register.
Wearing a fedora and carrying an umbrella.
Distant.
Similar to depression.
Except alluring, and beautiful.
i was chosen for the next moon landing
and my co-passengers arrived at the meeting
in lightweight space suits
but i wore my black leather jacket
to show my contempt for space
i speak to anyone in similar attire
in supermarket queues i've jumped
to tell a co-customer i like that
the world beard and moustache championships were postponed
due to the covid-19 pandemic
tailored jackets are in
and jacket potatoes are overrated
can't wear a fedora 'til your seventies; i
am the Fonz jumping sharks on water skis
in my leather jacket
but i'll tell you who's not cool -
the flapjack octopus
i took the kids to a magic show
i wore it there;
to show my contempt for fun
Frankly, he was a man
Though not very tall,
His voice made him seem
Very big to us all ...
He could be an actor
He could even dance,
With a photogenic smile
And a dapper stance
Gentle and sweet
Known for his eyes,
Donning a fedora
With suits and ties
He was generous ...
If you needed something,
Gave you his all ...
Even when he'd sing
The lonesome road
Didn't always go his way,
With twists and turns
That's life, he'd say ...
The New Year's in diapers
a broad smile on her face
Sipping champagne from pink booties
in her hair, Queen Anne's lace
Bald baby boy with the cigar
please remove your fedora
Those puff-clouds of smoke
ruin 2024's aura
Feeling like a lost soul I sit, as the train rocks me to and fro
the woman next to me is jovial and pleasant, with a glow
We chat and pass the hours sharing amicably without restraint
then she tells me she is heading for London to marry, oh how quaint
Perhaps your marriage will be blessed from heaven? this I say
as the gentlemen across from me smiles, cool as the month of May
I can see from his polished shoes and his gray fedora hat
that he's a man of well to do, much accustomed to small pratt
Later in the evening as I sip my tea with clotted cream
I notice how he stares at me, as if I were a dream
Feeling lonely and quiet daring I invite him to sit down
it is then that I do notice, that his eyes are chestnut brown
"Going to London to visit my grandma" I say, "she lives by the sea"
"I can escort you Mademoiselle," he says, then tips his hat at me.
Chose # 3 a passenger on a train
I had been driving for decades.
A yellow Buick, deluxe convertible circa '51',
the model with the three-speed manual transmission -
8 cylinder.
A deserted desert diner. The door creaks
as I enter,
green tomatoes fry on a skillet.
I throw my fedora,
feed bread into a counter toaster.
A woman appears, drying her hands.
"You've found me in my old age -
how impolite of you."
She says between disapproving lips.
She is indeed old, her face lined and
yet lovely.
"Is that your Buick"?
Before I can answer, she asks,
"is that your hat on a rack at the back"?
I answer, "I think this is our date."
"Only this time you're the pitiful figure." She interjects,
spooning tomatoes onto a plate.
I remember how badly I had treated her,
making my excuses, leaving early in the evening.
"This is it!" I exclaim.
Our second chance!."
A withering look.
"In my story," she says, "you die young on the highway,
in a ball of flames."
I imagine my black charred hand
on the big white steering wheel
as may horn honks impatiently.
Green tomatoes sizzle
as I disappear.
She sits in a provocative way, knowing it.
Shiny red fedora perched down over her eyes.
An open dress shows many gorgeous assets.
Headlights glaring, soft legs casually crossed.
Looking like a doll from Mattel, not Art Deco.
I wonder if she is getting ready to dance or sing?
Could be both, she is multi-talented, capable of surprises.
I watch my cousin proudly, ready to give loud applause.
The villain on a theatrical stage is easy to spot
He is wearing the black cape and black fedora
Melodramatic music accompanies him.
He has a fake mustache, and he looks slimy and creepy
Villains off stage are not easy to spot
Many are handsome; they dress in nice clothes.
Their smile seems genuine, they seem like nice guys.
They wear no mustaches, unfortunately for us.
A mottled feather glides,
then pirouettes to the forest floor.
Above me a deeply depressed owl
plucks at its plumage.
Birds of prey are too intelligent
their eyes swivel on lit-up neurons.
Sometimes it all gets too much,
what with the constant hunting,
surviving, keeping warm enough
to kill and avoid being killed,
raising ungrateful owlets.
I pick up the lovely feather
stick it in the hatband of my fedora
walk on whistling light-heartedly.
The owl watches me strolling away
with a very peeved owlish glare.
An exaggerated style, the zoot suit
was a statement in clothes.
Yet it fell into ill repute,
history shows.
Outlandishly flamboyant and distinct:
comedy was its roots.
Clothes came from the Harlem precinct:
called culture suits.
With their wide lapels and baggy trousers:
they were ostentatious.
And favored by rabble-rousers;
loose and spacious.
Worn by African-American youth
and poor Mexican teens.
They looked rebellious and uncouth;
much more than jeans.
Oft accessorized with a gold key chain:
and a fedora hat.
Frisco sailors showed their disdain;
armed with a bat.
More about color than flashy fashion:
racial riots broke out.
All those beat without compassion:
left little doubt.
A man in a black overcoat walks into the night.
Under a street light a circle of autumn leaves
shed their waning colors,
hues that reach just a little beyond
that electric ring of light.
The man pauses to light a cigarette
one hand cupping the flame from his lighter.
He moves on into the black night
where everything, even fallen leaves, disappear.
I watch all this from under a fedora,
my black coat tugs at me
as if wanting me to keep walking
into this movie of myself,
to watch alone as Winter rolls in
across a screen without frame or corners.
Walking blindly now
to a place where only the night watches.
I am behind
the large white wheel of an Oldsmobile.
I am a page ripped from a Raymond Chandler novel.
Clipped words curl close to my lips as hot as ash.
Dreamy eyes are cold tonight, there will be death
at the side of a desert back-road.
Revolvers will be shaken until blood spills from a mouth.
I park carefully until the cars white-walls
appear at the four corner’s of the night.
I am on a case, another Hollywood sex scandal.
I sit there smoking until dawn mists
swim into the valley.
Speeding squad cars blast past me;
the City Dicks are tough around here
and most are on the 'take.'
I let the engine idle wondering where
this all fits into a half-written plot?
“Lets move” I drawl to my suit rumpled self,
easing the rim of my fedora over weary eyes,
heading now to where flash-bulbs expose
what we do when the stars turn blue.
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