My Old Panama Hat Poem by Timmy Angel Naylor

It hangs on a nail
At the back of the shed
With a mantle of mould
And a spider's web makes a veil.
In the early days of crisp, clean canvas
It perched stiffly on my medium head
And on the label the tiny figure of an explorer
Scurried round impatiently.

That Spring,
That first Spring when I knew your eyes
For the bold cornflower blue that they were,
We walked down tidal creeks
In the ebb and flow of easy emotion.
And do you remember you snatched my hat
From my head and ran
Laughing down Padstow beach
And into the sea?
And later
Tossed soggy on the bed
It dried and left our
Sheets sprinkled
With sea-salt, sand and chrystalised laughter?



Since then,
Many a sunny day I've sat
Beneath the bamboo in that dusty old hat
And strummed a lazy guitar.
You call me in to sit with you
In that infinite hour of the afternoon
When the things that matter most
Are the things that mattered most all along.
And your eyes, now the colour of honesty, offering
Without surrender, nothing less than unconditional peace.

And that old hat?
Why it hangs on a nail
At the back of the shed
With a mantle of mould
And a spider's web makes a veil.
Shall I dust it down
And heed the fading label,
The explorer's call to chase
One last fatuous dream?
Not today.
Truthfully never.