Old Home Days

Slipping over my head.

As though, it had been there all along.

A gift of instilled courage, love and Styrofoam.

A hat of…

white, red and blue.

Alas, for twenty-five cents, I could do no wrong.

Under the wide brim.

Freckles expanding with the sun’s glare.

If memory serves me right.

It would be the first and the last time…

My grandfather seemed to care.

Forever, the stoic Irish Cop.

During games of skill and chance…

His judging frown let go its muster.

Odd in my innocence…

There was an awareness to our kinship.

As though, my blood lack luster.

Old Home Days brought a Rockwell grandfather back to me.

The kind children yearn for.

Softhearted elders…

telling tales of fabled glory.

The sort that… bounce you on their knees.


I have a hundred hats or so.

And, that is not accounting for cherished ones…I let go.


I am always dressing for that knock off Old Home Day…hat.

The one with white, red and blue ribbon…dangling in the back.

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