the cap has gone missing
that’s not an exaggeration.
we don’t worry of where it went–
the impact is enough distraction.
the wind in the hair, no cap,
catastrophe disturbing all the art work
uselessness and ugliness; a spirit ruined
the sauce jar; mouth shocked in the kitchen
at risk of shattering, surely contamination
rolling with suspense to surprise the cooks
the cap-bow shows respect, and a lot of that
is shown because a busted body
lays on the ground, punctured with holes
cap rests against the chest; give the heart privacy
cap vents a weeping woman’s face of surrender
cool the hellish heat; a forever stain to the face
exhale, pull back your fine line lips
close the hallowed eyes; cap on the face
this continues along stories of regret
Now that I am FINALLY editing this poem to post it, I am realizing that Billy Collins wrote a similar poem titled “Death of the Hat.”
DISCLAIMER: My poem was inspired by the colloquial phrase, “imma ‘bust a cap‘ on someone” which means to shoot somebody with a gun. I don’t want no problems, Billy.
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