Sad Santa’s Hat.

It happened just after Christmas.
I’d walked.
It’d rained.
It’d rained heavily.
In fact it’d rained so heavily I had puddles for pockets.

I was wet.
I could have been more wet!
If I’d taken a swim,
When I’d gotten to Southsea,
With all my clothes on.

Not for me the group of friends with which to see the film.
Not for me the warm cloistered drink in the bar.
It rained so hard that even “Singing in the rain”,
No longer amused.

It was cold,
It was dark.
I was alone.
Strange people watched me pass.
Strange people lurked in doorways.

I was wet.
I was cold.
I was tired.
I was not amused.
I was going home.

It was about that moment,
In the rain,
In the dark,
That I noticed him.
The man in the stupid Santa’s hat.

No other affectation.
A bag of chips.
Shelter from the rain under the Tricorns ramps,
Stood.
The man in the stupid Santa’s hat.

I don’t remember making eye contact.
I made no sign,
Nor nod,
Nor any recognisable symbol of recognition,
To the man in the stupid Santa’s hat.

So imagine my surprise,
Whilst crossing the road,
That he upped and followed,
And I realised I was utterly alone,
With the man in the stupid Santa’s hat.

I increased my pace,
Across Safeway’s car park,
Pursued by thoughts of rape,
or murder, or worse,
At the hands of the man in the stupid Santa’s hat.

Still quicker up the road.
The crossing mercifully clear.
I look back,
Only to catch a glimpse of the grinning face,
Of the man in the stupid Santa’s hat.

The only other person,
A lame incoherent man,
Tried to proposition me,
And all I can think,
Behind me is the man in the stupid Santa’s hat.

Past Dickens’s place,
And all the little alley ways,
Where they’d find my body,
Bruised and bleeding from every orifice,
And just that stupid Santa’s hat.

A swift turn,
A duck,
A dive,
I’m back amongst people.
Finally brave enough to look back.

He’s gone.