Superstition

It tugs at me despite myself,
this sense that luck can be de-railed
carriages toppled from the track
by the transgression of one tiny rule

My family were fully paid up members
of the Middle Ages, ignoring
the human race’s poor record for prophecy
or charms which ward off evil.

Nobody stirred with a knife in our house
No bags of new shoes placed upon a table
No new moon glimpsed through glass
No clothes worn inside-out.

What trespass on a paving crack
kick-started the disasters in my life?
Which charms and incantations
bathed my family in fortune?

Great Science, overlook my multiple offences
against the lores of luck
let not that cat’s paw falling in my path
that one remaining Christmas decoration

that bird trapped in a room
that crack in an old mirror
presage unfolding tragedy
withhold my heart’s desire.

I will convert to logic, join this century
set aside horseshoes, trolls, and clover leaves
ignore all omens bad and good.
All will be well – touch wood.