Monthly Archives: April 2016

Poetry Month 1/30

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The Hat

Back in the 60’s people dressed up more, especially going to church. I had stretchy white gloves and tights, and pretty, lacy hats and purses, and shiny, patent leather shoes.
My hair was brushed into waves and curls, after my mom wet, rolled, dried, and unrolled my hair with pink spongy curlers.

Mom had dark, curled hair ratted into a bowling ball shape, heightened with a wiglet hair piece. Her features were enhanced by green eyes, a prominent nose, dimples in both of her cheeks, and a divot in her chin. Red was her signature lipstick color.
She wore polyester dresses, or shells (sleeveless tops) and skirts with cardigans. She always wore longline bras, and nylons hooked to a girdle underneath a full or half-slip. Her shoes were usually spike-heeled pumps, which were a bit awkward as they poked holes in the snow-covered icy sidewalks on our wintery walks to church.
The following poem takes one back to that era:

The Hat
So proudly she donned her newest treasure,
Promenading so proudly with such pleasure.
I thought, “how cool!”
Folds of black scarving formed a turban-like base,
Which beautifully framed her eyes, and eyebrows and her dimply, rosey-cheeked face!
The highlight of this amazing, millinery marvel drew the viewers eyes upward,
Roving towards a ruffled, virtual “forest” of feathers,
Flopping, floating, crazily “every-which-way” without rhymed reasoning,
And so gloriously- absurd!
Well, my mom decided to wear this new accent to her beauty,
To our Midwestern church,
Whose opinionated members were quite conservative, gossipy, and snooty.
I thought, “How fun!”
She had the best time, in church, as her feathers tickled my dad’s nose,
And, as she slipped into the lady’s room afterwards, starred down by two snobbish crows.
Coffee-time in the “Church-ladies’ basement” was definitely a hoot!
The feathers flew freely onto our clothes,  jackets, and suits.
Ironically, many of the ladies, although enviously green.
And despite the drama, and the spectacle of the scene,
Poured out compliments, as the church crowd giggled and cooed,
Nobody showed my mom their usually snobbery, nor were they rude.
I thought, “Wow!”
I think from that Sunday, onward, we found,
The church became less uppity, and perhaps, nicer all around.
Unfortunate for my mom, arriving back home, instead,
My dad told her, she’s never to wear that crazy hat, again, on her head,
So, it went back permanently in its box on a shelf, near their bed.
Until now, forgotten.