Lamar Howell's Weblog

A used hat sits on a shelf

Whose head was it on?

Someone who grew weary of that hat

With its felt circle of restriction

and wide brim

and sweat stains.

It blocked the light

and the heat of the sun

and  hid someone’s unkempt hair

I suppose it will keep sitting there

until he comes back for it –

if he does come back

Maybe he traded it in for a better one

A crown of thorns sits on a shelf

Whose head was it on?

Someone who was forced to wear that hat

with its twisted circle of branches

and sharp points

and blood stains

It wasn’t worn for shade

or to block out the sun

It couldn’t hide his unkempt hair

I suppose it will keep sitting there

because he would never come back for it,

when he does come back

I’ll bet he traded it in for a better one.