Hat

He handed it to me when I was 25,

with a Cheshire cat smile,

knowing it wasn't my team,

and liking it all the better for it.

I wore it,

reluctantly,

the Kelly green of it a traffic cone

warning others not to get too close

brim worn thin

on the edges

where he was always

making sure it sat

...just.

right.

until the shamrocks stitched to the side

could no longer mask the shackles

I tore it off

set it ablaze in the front yard

and let my soft ginger curls

fly free in the breeze,

finally mine again.

Participant's Poems