SALT OVER SHOULDER
Many a year, alas and alack,
I avoided stepping on sidewalk cracks
Lest I’d trip and go on the attack,
Recklessly breaking my mother’s back.
Only once I tripped and failed,
Landed in the belly of Jonas’s whale,
And now I have this strange psychosis,
That I caused Mom’s osteoporosis.
If I were smart I’d cradle a frog in my arms,
They say that frogs cure a myriad of harms.
Perhaps though gay, I’ll go straight on the seas,
For they say naked ladies the storms do appease.
And I never sweep my doorway with a broom after dark,
This is tempting fate at best,
For witches use brooms to travel at night,
And sweeping past midnight brings unwelcome guests.
I save my fingernails in an airtight jar
After I clip and prune,
Witches use fingernails in their nasty brew,
Mixed in the light of the moon.
I salute and flatter Mr. Magpie,
Complimenting him on his lovely wife.
If he knew he was still single,
He’d be miserable for life.
And so I do a public service
And tell an eentsy-teentsy lie,
For magpies they are thieving birds,
Not to be trusted alone in the sky.
I’ve never lit three cigarettes with a single match,
I don’t want my third friend cruelly dispatched,
A soldier felled by the hand of fate,
Old wives’ tales hold a lot of weight.
And I always say bless you when someone sneezes,
I don’t want their spirit slipping away,
Felled by a head cold of sniffles and wheezes,
I want my friends safe for another day.
I take pains never to walk under a ladder
Afraid of some dreadfully serious matter,
Like a nasty bout with the demon gout
Or a strange disorder of the bladder.
And yet I am struck with a strange disease,
I tremble, I shuffle, and I freeze.
And sure as I know my middle name,
I swear that Judas I’s to blame.
The reason for my stiff and useless limbs,
Can ultimately be blamed on him.
It is said that Judas spilt salt at the famed last meal,
A Last Supper shared with Jesus
As the Easter bells did peal.
And that one should always throw salt over shoulder,
I’ve ignored this adage alas and alack
From birth until much older.
I know it sounds preposterous,
Even a bit medieval,
But the salt was meant to appease the devil,
And to somehow ward off evil.
Somehow I’d forgotten that wise little pearl.
And how it has wreaked havoc in my sad little world
Somehow I’ve forgotten that plain and simple truth,
And I’ve been struck down like an old man
In the flower of my youth.
Now I guess it serves me right,
All I can say is alas and alack,
The devil’s Mr. Parkinson,
And he’s always on my back.
And so my disease is a mess of my making,
My misery my own damn fault,
A useless remnant of my former self,
Like the wife of Lot, a pillar of salt.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
That was fun. I doubt somehow that salt is your problem. Otherwise we'd all be struck down.
ReplyDeleteMy mother had a few good ones: You were never to put a box of new shoes onto a table or terrible things would befall you. Nor should you ever give someone a knife or set of knives without demanding a penny in return or the friendship would be severed. If giving someone a purse or a wallet, a penny must be placed inside for reasons unknown. She was big on the ladder and salt superstitions too. Fingers were often crossed. It's funny because she was such a practical soul.
Glad you liked it, Claire. Rarely do I do "research" for a poem, but for this I did and half of these I knew nothing about, so I learned something new, albeit kind of useless! No, alas and alack, I don't really think salt is my problem! If only it were that easy, I could save the world! I had not heard the one about knives. I had heard the one about the penny in the purse and crossing one's fingers, though I don't know the origins of either. Very interesting! Thanks as always for reading and commenting!
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