My favorite hat is not even my hat.
I found it orphaned on a bench in park.
It first sat on another history;
someone who preferred blue,
someone who fished,
someone who tied his own flies.
If you saw me wearing it
you might well think I was that one.
I neither fish nor tie flies,
but I am partial to blue seas and blue skies,
I am partial to my wife’s blue eyes,
I am partial to the blue flame of truth.
The truth is, on my head, this hat lies.
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Except for actually factually finding a hat on a park bench,
this poem is fiction. I only imagined wearing the hat.