In America, "Land of the Free and Home of the Brave",
to an old superstition, your friend Bri is a ‘LOST soul', a SLAVE.
Today's bright and shiny. I woke up, not a care in the world,
UNTIL, looking at the calendar, a fog through my brain swirled.
I KNEW it would say Friday, but to my horror it said number 13.
[[It was a Friday the 13th when, from her breast, Mom did me wean.
Friday (a 13th) was when I was forced to attend my first day of school.
And on a Friday the 13th, my first wife, of many, called me "a Fool".]]
My mind raced to find solace somehow. What should Bri do? ?
I COULD get a marker pen and change the "3" in 13th to "2".
But ‘something' told me, as I'm often told, "That will NOT work!
Bri, you are Simply Silly, and I think you're also often a JERK! "
So, I did not eat breakfast, lest I get a bad case of "The Runs".
Instead I quickly peed, but did not flush. I ate no eggs OR buns.
I slipped into bed, trying to not slip and fall down on my way.
I'll stay under my covers to await the 14th; then it will be Saturday.
(October 13th, 2017)
Oh my friend a bad case of triskaidekaphobia never mind its safe to come out from under the blankets Great piece still laughing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When we start believing in superstitions, the superstitions affect us psychologically. I happy that my friend Bri has a strong will power and doesn't believe insuperstitions.