Hats

I have lost a lot of hats.
The beanie, disappearing towards Tonbridge,
when I’d left the train at Croydon.
The beret, neatly sliced by the Gatwick Express,
while I waited for the slow train to Clapham.
The cloche, on an old steam train in Surrey,
during a child’s birthday treat.

Of course, they weren’t all lost to trains.
There was the stylish blue linen,
put down in a café on the Campo di Fiori,
and never picked up.
The tasselled Peruvian one,
gone from a bench in Washington Square.

I’ve lost other things too,
Once, my unravelling, grubby,
one-eared bunny, turned the corner,
still on the bus.
While I stood, grasping my mother’s hand,
and pointing.