Black Cat

A black cat stiffens in your path,
staring down shapes you pretend
you can’t see: black leaves
shaped like tombstones, black berries
like the devil’s eyes, a black sky
thicker than seeping blood.

You’re clear-headed, objective,
sceptical even, a voice of reason
for any occasion, with ready
reasons, explanations, facts
to back up the condescending truth,
but one black cat on a black night
slits the seams of superstition
you’ve tied inside for so long.

So you twist sweating fingers
like your grandmother taught you,
squint and spit to deflect the hex,
but the black cat stretches black legs
licks black lips with its black tongue,
winks, and waits for your next move.