Jul 31

On The Subject of Ill Luck

I was always superstitious.
Some would say I’m just suspicious,
I knew better than to cry,
“Superstitions are a lie!”
Then one day my neighbor said,
“All this stuff’s just in your head.
People fear silly signs,
Fantasies of their minds.”
I thought about this idea.
Now, what was I to fear?
If a black cat crossed the road,
Would I turn into a toad?
So I squared my shoulders boldly,
Looking in the mirror coldly
I ventured out for a view
Of the whole world anew.
The sun was warm, the birds were singing,
And in the distance I heard ringing.
I pranced onto the road, gleeful,
When something made me stop all fearful.
A shaggy horse walked up the street,
Chewing on a sheaf of wheat.
I ogled at the tired beast,
Who utterly enjoyed a feast.
What gave me such a dreadful fright?
The startling fact- the horse was white.
I crossed my fingers, clicked my toes,
Trying not to think of awful woes.
Then I remembered, loud and clear;
That I decided not to fear…
What if I drown and die tomorrow,
Would there not be only sorrow?
If I tripped and stepped in gum,
I would be in endless glum?!
Just as I was thinking,
Some headlights came blinking.
A car zoomed onto the empty street,
Me it would most surely meet,
If I had not sprung out of the way,
Right into a pile of hay.
Shaking off stray bits of grass,
I tried to make my brain amass:
The white horse had done its trick
To get me into trouble quick.
I weakly strolled into the park,
And jumped at hearing a bark.
A black dog boomed at clear space,
I quickly stepped back a pace.
Of course, the whole thing was bogus,
But then, a black dog proved ominous.
I quickly dashed around the gate,
And ran and hit an empty crate.
A few red oranges spilled out,
And I rolled over. Do not doubt,
It was the canine’s fault, right out.
I hastened home; t’was getting dark,
And I was quite an early lark.
Around the corner I merrily jumped,
My poor foot got badly bumped,
I noticed then, and saw it there
A ladder was against the stair.
I entered the house quite unnerved
Slammed the door shut, a bit disturbed.
Superstitions are a lie?‘
But I knew better, I’d defy.
I saw a clipping on the table:
“ You might right well be able to create your own bad luck
Being drawn as game to a decoy duck.”