Oh, to own a brim.

Not just any sky you please,

But one becoming my demeanor.

A casual statement as it were.

A prelude fit for gods.

Those mythological creations

Not your monolithic almighty.

A lamppost, a silhouette, brim tilted,

Bogarting Prince Albert’s cigarette.

Smoke dancing round the face.

The trolley passing through the fog,

As the movie house let out.

Zeus, Hesse, and Stravinsky

Sauntered out the double doors.

A turned-up collar had each,

Against the winter wind.

Plaid, brown, and blue scarves

Wore they in turn.

Stravinsky was the shortest.