Words All The Way Down

Find the darkest cat and squeeze it
Because Friday thirteenth’s coming
Time for omens spooky strange
Wait, it might be Tuesday. Beats me

Step on cracks, there goes your mother
Break a mirror with a ladder
Leave a letter chain on pending
Demons lurk around you whistling

Ready salt, your shoulders need it
Evil eye protection’s waning
Bowl of rice in need of chopsticks
Hope the flavor’s something tasty

Now you’ve done it. Time to face it
Nothing more to do to save it
Scream unlucky number nine or
Maybe number four. I forget

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The idea with this poem was to accumulate a bunch of superstitions and then write about them in four stanzas, each having four lines, with all of them being in tetrameter. It’s just meant to be silly.