My underwear’s elastic has stretched its last,
And tossing it in the trash is not an option,
That pale pink bleach-stained scrap of fabric’s lucky.
Oh what conniving forces would pursue me in a clean white pair,
Perhaps it’s time for a sturdier charm, one more durable for wear and tear.
Let’s see, a four leaf clover boasts of leprechaun magic and ancient lore,
But a mere plant wilts and dies from the sun’s fatal kiss.
The tender pads of a rabbit foot soften my anxieties,
But my bunny for sure would take offense at the pain of his innocent friend.
Rainbows painted across the sky earnestly promise bliss,
But a simple reaction of H2O and light is science, not a miracle.
Every night I could scour the sky for a dazzling shooting ball of light,
But placing trust in fleeting phenomena feels like jumping into a sinister abyss.
A shiny penny in the street, glints a copper smile,
But the hunk of metal crawls with infinite germs and one dead president.
These lucky charms once seemed to me essential for survival,
But on second thought I could just as well crunch on marshmallow versions.
I won’t wilt, or fade, or rust, or explode like a capricious star,
Perhaps I’ll find my luck inside, where the best charms are.