So I thought I’d just quickly post this poem. Last year it got me 3rd prize in the Book Day competition at Aberystwyth and although it hasn’t been published I am not certain I can use it for anything but a collection. So enjoy!
The Kangaroo Hat
Once I would have jumped and eaten and loved,
Now I sit.
Dust gathers and sunlight allows motes to gather.
They come with cloths and wipe me down
Brim and top.
Plain and black
No crocodile skin or corks
But plain kangaroo,
Made for weather and for work,
I will shield my wearer from all.
The shop opens and people come.
One stops, lifts me and tries me.
I am brought.
How lucky am I?
I travel to a farm;
Sheep and horses, dust and dirt.
A good place to work.
But no, in a box,
Wrapped and labelled.
Sent away.
On airplanes and boats, the box travels with me inside.
I am battered and bruised.
The box is torn
Until I arrive
A doorbell is rung and people exclaim.
I am placed atop a table.
A knife is taken to my casing.
My shield is no more
I sit naked and in black splendour.
This is not the place I left.
No dust and no dirt.
Mud here is sticky and cloying.
Water falls in incessant streams.
I am on the other side of the world
But wait! I am tried on.
I transform my wearer
From husband and father, to farmer and workman.
I am taken outside.
I work, I shield.
I see my purpose.
In fields and paddocks I spy sheep.
No horses, but a farm.
I use myself to spare my wearer rain and shine.
Soon we are one.
As he moves so do I.
I am a hat, and I have purpose.
A long way from home yet I do the same job.
In time I am worn.
Old and tired,
But my wearer takes care of me, he shields me.
Wax and stitches all used
Until I sit astride his head
Once more a hat,
No longer what I was but
Still able to work.
Stains mar my surface
But I am loved
A gift from son to father.
Kate Murray - Cleaver 