Throw Salt Poem by Samuel Wagan Watson

Our Elders are well-acquainted with the Unlucky,
And they acknowledge Death by his sign,
Don't cross a knife and fork on the kitchen table
'Cause you're just inviting the Devil to dine,
Throw salt.

An owl is the foul feather of premonition,
Black cat can only reads black times,
As red-eyed dogs prowl the Mission crossroads and hills
When bat-wings speak easy moonshine,
Throw salt.

For what ails us is cod-liver oil,
Speak of the dead and it'll curve your spine,
Leave a protective glass of water on night's window-sill,
Gambling on the Sabbath will send you blind,
Throw salt.

Touch-wood and throw salt over your shoulder
Throw it once a day and make it divine,
To be superstitious is to be one; with God and dark nature,
To be superstitious is to be sublime,

Throw salt,
Throw salt,
Throw salt . . .