The Old Hat Trick

I once had a boyfriend that
would often barrow my hat
the one I found in my basement, would slide over one eye and pretend it was once my grandfathers’ hat
I liked it like that, him with my hat
Part of me, on top of he
Until he lost it (the hat, that is)
And then lost me (in terms of romantic relations, that is)

On a train, an elderly
Fellow
who paced the isles asked me,
who was chewing on vinegar potato chips and head phone wires
whose heeled boots and teeth were exposed to all strangers
If he was on the correct train
He said, “I have never been on a train this nice before,”
I smiled, and admired the train
That looked like every other train I have ever forgotten to notice
Before telling him, yes, this was his train, but it was the most lovely train I had ever seen, too
Which made him feel accomplished, and he sat down in front of me
And would turn from
Time to time, alas, removing my headphones,
To talk while I thought a good long time
About how trains change appearance in real life,
train lines
headlines
time lines
Looking at the back of his seat, I envied his perspective
For on top of his head sat my old hat.