(x = space)

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Triscuit Decks a Phobia

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I keep forgetting

That when the first is on a Sunday

There will be a Friday

The thirteenth

I have to pay attention

Though I’m not afraid

I find it interesting

The day

The superstition

All our reactions

When we realize

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There’s the Irish in me

Or you

Or the Italian or the Russian

The Kenyan

Or the Māori

Part of you

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Loki

Raven

Anansi

All the mischief-makers

Plus phantom pronouncements

On the cracks

Under the ladders

With the black cats

Passing by

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The weight of superstition

Better to wear it lightly

Over souls

Keep a thought

Let it drive you

Toward civility

With an interest in

What drives an utterance

Of the Scottish play

Inside the theatre

In another play’s production

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Maybe ghosts will tell us

Why it matters

Since the ethereal

If not the numinous

Is attached

And coursing through

The old sources

And our own,

Both inventing things

For cautions

In our day

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n. b.

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Be nice to black cats

They are not superstition;

They could have stanched

The plague

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C L Couch

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Photo by Possessed Photography on Unsplash

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