The Man with the Funny Hat by Philip Young

Standing in Tesco’s.
Looking at the cheese.
There’s a sense of being stared at.
A light draft of vision tingling at
My back.
It’s not funny at all to me,
Checking it the mirror before I leave.
In fact I think I suit it,
It makes me look cool, like
A serial killer maybe. 
Ed Gain in Tesco’s, looking at 
The lamps.
Maybe it’s not me they are looking at,
The couple, she’s six months pregnant
And he’s got good shoes.
They come here often like me.
I, being an object of their daily routine.
Clowning away like some happy
Summer Day.
I will go to a different shop tomorrow.
The checkout girl knows me now,
Not in a ‘Hello, How are you today?’
Way. But
‘Here’s that weirdo again today.’
Way.
I pack as she stares at my hat.
Now I know why Serial Killers kill,
Serial in so many to get through.
Killer as in clean their eyes away.
I’ve earned the right to wear this hat,
A magic hat, such as this.
From under it I catch fleeting glimpses
Of the world,
Peering along lines of packaged food
And people.
Beneath its fabric I listen to the sound
Of a world watching.
I pause at the moving doors.
Is there something I
forgot?


The giggles are nothing but
coins.


Dropped into an empty
fountain.