Poem of the Week: Triskaidekaphobia

I'm not superstitious, but...
by Col Wilson, aka 'Blue the Shearer'

Assertion of the Week: "There are no good poems about Friday the 13th." Prove me wrong and I'll publish it next week (in some kind of metatextual dating mix-up).

That doesn't mean I've not got one to publish though, oh no. The title may seem only partially related, but most of the poem is still about Friday the 13th. It starts off fairly well, but loses it in a desperate hunt for rhymes.

If you're triskaidekaphobic, then this is your big day.
A day designed for triskaidekaphobics, (so they say)
Is BLACK FRIDAY. The thirteenth. So watch out what you do,
Or triskaidekaphobia could be the death of you.

Be very, very careful of what you undertake,
The consequences could be dire. The decision that you make
Should have no element of risk. For surely you're aware,
That this is Friday, the thirteenth. Take very special care.

Not that I'm susceptible to silly superstition,
But some folk are. So my advice: Consider your position.
It may be just some oldwives' tale, but you just watch your back.
Don't cross your knives upon your plate. Don't step upon a crack.

Don't go too close to mirrors. Those shiny sheets of glass
May crack, and cause misfortune. So shun them when you pass.
Of course, this means no mirror when you go to shave your chin,
So keep a basin near at hand to do your bleeding in.

Don't walk beneath a ladder, you may get splashed with paint.
For on Black Friday, the thirteenth, fortunate you ain't.
And be alert, and look around for black cats on this day.
For bad results are forecast, if one should cross your way.

If salt is spilled, then take a pinch, and toss it down your back,
Some say it will protect you from Black Friday type attack.
All your friends will laugh and jeer, but you'll say:"That's alright,
I only have to keep it up 'til twelve o'clock, to-night."

And just consider what you say. The person that you're rude to,
May be a special kind of witch. The kind that I allude to
Can turn you into cabbages, or make you very poor.
Remember. This is Friday, the thirteenth. I said before,

That triskaidekaphobia, (the terror of thirteen)
Is very rife, this day of days. A pretty dreadful scene.
So watch yourself in traffic, in the kitchen, everywhere.
For triskaidekaphobics, there is danger in the air.

Ah! Triskaidekaphobia. I just learned the word today.
And from here on in, I'll try to find excuses, just to say
Triskaidekaphobia. It just rolls off the tongue.
I'll say it daily, and enjoy the pleasure that it brung.

I'll buy a lottery ticket, and I'll call it: Triskaidek.
And when it wins, I'll take it all in cash, and not by cheque.
And really, I don't believe in luck, when all is done and said,
But just the same. Black Friday. I think I'll stay in bed.

And this was published. Perhaps self published, mind... There's some info on the poem and poet here, and some more here, and if you're interested in Triskaidekaphobia itself there's always the good ol' Wikipedia article.