It's Friday the Thirteenth Tomorrow
 
 


by Kenn Nesbitt
 
   
It’s Friday the thirteenth tomorrow.
A black cat just leapt in my path.
I’m not superstitious, but this might
explain why I’m failing in math.

 

By chance I walked under a ladder
a teacher had placed near the wall.
In class my umbrella popped open,
and that’s why I tripped in the hall.

 

The salt spilled this morning at breakfast.
While walking I stepped on a crack.
I set down my shoes on the table.
It looks like my future is black.

 

This evening I busted a mirror,
which means that the next seven years
are due to be filled with misfortune,
catastrophes, mishaps, and tears.

 

With all the bad luck I’m confronting,
it seems that I’m probably cursed.
It may be the thirteenth tomorrow,
but Thursday the twelfth is the worst.

 

Text © Kenn Nesbitt, published by Meadowbrook Press.

Illustration © Mike Gordon.

Any copying or use of this poem without consent is unlawful.

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