The scarlet butte of Mexican Hat chokes
on unrelenting seasoned winds, (blew clear
through me). The huge stone sombrero shape, jokes
in sandstone, its humor drew me. Austere
walls rise to mesa’s, somber table tops,
that flatten under the skies, dropping down.
Then stair step to another level, stops,
deposited like silt, this silly town
with tourist prices, gas, deserted bar.
I met a stranded couple, (French) with brittle
nerves exposed, (the woman, nice), their car
was stalled and they just hung around a little.
Gave them a ride and finally a smile
at chance and switching hats once in a while.