Bobble Hat and Thunder Face
It’s this season’s combination,
the Bobble Hat and Thunder Face,
Incongruous as a clown’s nose on a priest;
Or a Teletubby at a funeral.
Bobble hat worn like a tea cosy on an oil drum,
Pulled down low to accentuate the eyebrows,
The furious eyebrows,
Bunched like his fists,
At the prospect you might have seen him,
When there’s no chance that you’ll miss him.
Not with the pink pom-pom bouncing up top there
Keeping time with his stride.
And he doesn’t want you to ask him,
‘cos you’ll get a bunch of fives if you ask him,
But the temptation is almost too great.
Who committed this crime?
Who got him on his way out of the door?
Who saw his biker jacket and his paint spattered jeans
And thought a woolly hat would set it off nicely?
And why did he give in?
Maybe it’s because Bobble Hat and Thunder Face
goes best with our awkward attempts to avoid eye contact;
Fits best with our crossing the road and staring in shop windows,
Until Bobble Hat has fumed his way past.
And if that’s true,
if that’s the general effect,
if that’s the promise of this combo,
then perhaps it’s time we reconsidered its contribution to haute couture.
Perhaps it’s time for the rest of us to take up knitting.
I’ll get started on the pom-pom.
