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Do you suppose it would be unlucky if one would
write a 13-line poem, with 13 syllables per
line, on Friday the 13th in the year two thousand
thirteen while standing under a ladder on one foot?

Just in case it is,
I’ll choose to write today,
Friday, December 13, 2013,
sitting in my easy chair,
with a gold horseshoe on the wall,
a four-leaf clover in my wallet,
holding my lucky rabbit’s foot
in my left hand as I scribe
this poem with my right hand…

May the evil superstitions
that tend to hang around
bid adieu, goodbye, farewell
as they exit from your town.

Happy Friday the Thirteenth!