It’s Friday the thirteenth, unlucky, or
Is it no more than just another day?
It’s early evening, and I only saw
The date just now, and so far, it’s okay.
It rained, but it’s been like that all the way
From May to July, so I can’t complain
Of bad luck today, or, when I replay
Past Friday the thirteenths; there’s been no pain.
Enough about the date; does fate contain
A thing called luck, that like some old see-saw,
Is up, then down, and sometimes just halfway,
Or is it not that easy to explain?
Luck used to be a lady, or a whore,
But sexism’s no more: luck’s gone away.
Fri 13 July 2007
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