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The Lennings
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Hat
Taste this, I think it's gone bad.
I don't trust my senses.
I've never had someone there before to tell me so.
Down the drain it goes.
I just can't open my eyes.
Sleep has sewn them shut.
I'm not surprised.
She wakes me up by 3: 00, and saves a seat for me on the bike she rides.
Where is my oversized hat?
I'll never see it again.
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It blew right off my head driving down the road in your big beige car.
If I can't find a pen, can I call you up and dictate to you on the phone?
You write with such dexterity.
You clarify disparity.
Considering posterity.
The queen of all stenography.
And I'll bang out another two or three of these a day if this rain keep s up all year.
And maybe someday when I find my hat again, I'll name it after you.
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