Friday 13!!!! Psssst.
Oh my gawd! Friday the thirteenth came and went and I didn't even notice. I usually remain quietly at home, (That's more difficult now that I know home is where most of the accidents happen.) waiting for the toll of midnight that announces the "all clear."
I'm excessively superstitous about thirteen of anything, but Friday the thirteenth is the worst. So, how come I had a normal, possibly dull, day last Friday ? Hmmm.
|BEWARE OF ANYTHING LADDERY|
I even went back to see if I wrote anything that might be
bad, terrible, really rotten on that day. I didn't. Do you suppose my paraskevidekatriaphobia has gone away? And if that's the case, does it mean I can treat the 13th like any other day? This is a whole new world for me. This inspires me to write poetry. Please don't sigh like that, okay?
Ode to Friday 13
At last your ghastly power wanes
I'm freed from all those yearly pains.
No longer will I duck and hide
when number 13 doth abide.
No longer will I garlic strew
when doors I open onto you.
No longer will I cringe and cry
when feline black comes at my side.
Those ladders, yes, bring them on
I prepare to scale those all anon.
One reservation still I hold.
Submitting stories I am told,
to agents, editors is too bold.
When 13 is the page and day
my better judgement has the sway.
I'll wait for 14 to arrive
then query quickly all my five.
Ah, dear Friday please leave me be
I'm writer-weary as you can see.
There. That wasn't so bad, was it? Please say no or lie.