Down The Road

 

 

Top Hat

 

 

It is very old,

It is all but forgotten,

The owner takes a good care of it,

People piously clean and protect arrogant top hats,

Top hats should look expensive,

But what about being truly loved,

 

The last owner  is  much more than a hat brush,

To keep ambitions looking as good as new,

He is something like top hats’ savior,

His age is unknown,

It is all-time sensation,

It happened one beautiful morning,

 He entered the antique shop,

Like spring salvation opened the door,

  

His voice was remarkably raspy,

‘I’d love to buy this’,

The buyer touched shiny black silk and money jingled,  

The top hat understood nothing,

It couldn’t see the new master,

Before the top hat was put in the box,

It shuddered and fell in love,

 

The top hat was afraid to die in the hat box,

Forgotten on the top shelf,

Possessed by unclassy people wearing moth-eaten jackets,

It was saved from slow inelegant death,

Remember top hats may act rude,

When they feel  overlooked and threatened,

Now the snob is facing the curious beam of light,

 

‘Welcome to the temple of  the mysterious science.

On your way out,

Don’t expect me to turn you into something that is prosy, pretty and dull,

Into a bunny or a bouquet of flowers,

This place is not a circus,

My owner is Houdini of souls,

I’m not a magic prop, nosy beam of light’.