The Ballade of the Woman
in the Fucking Stupid Hat


I see her weekday mornings waiting at
  The station for her train on platform two. 
She either stands with coffee, or she’s sat
  Engrossed in some free paper, as you do.
I can’t not look at her, and nor could you - 
  Though neither pretty nor extremely fat,
She makes for quite a mesmerising view,
  That woman in the fucking stupid hat.

Her headgear makes her look like such a twat,
  You’ve no idea. It’s furry and bright blue
With little pointy ears just like a cat -
  The sort of thing that most of us outgrew
Around the age we tired of ‘peekaboo’.
  If braver or a better diplomat,  
I’d tell her that a new one’s overdue,
  That woman in the fucking stupid hat.

In fact, however ghastly is the tat 
  She wears, it is unfortunately true
To say that I’d provoke a nasty spat
  By giving her a friendly talking to  -
It’s futile to engage with people who
  Elect to dress as tastelessly as that. 
She really doesn’t have a bloody clue,
  That woman in the fucking stupid hat.


Prince Charming is not going to pursue
  A Cinderella titfered like a prat,  
But then what kind of bloke would want to screw
  That woman in the fucking stupid hat?

Rob Stuart

If you have any comments on this poem,  Rob Stuart would be pleased to hear from you.