White Rabbits

Wheels turning within wheels is luck.
Serendipity travels like a shuttlecock 
across a slippery dawn 
and white rabbits rustle on abandonment’s lawn 
foraging for matched socks, loose coins, 
paper wrappers, and any redeemables. 
Tempt Fate and risk getting a fat lip.

Do you know how lonely a scissor is?

When I stop to tie my shoe I alway pray, 
“preserve me, great God of the universes*,” 
and then cinch it tight as an “Amen.” 
But lately I have been wearing loafers.

For just a day, I would like to hold this 
dripping orb of a planet in the palm of 
my left hand and admire its completeness. 
I would marvel that it sustains everything 
we call Life. I would be even more 
surprised it was as heavy as an 8 lbs 
shot. I would put the moon in my pocket 
and hope no one saw me take it.

Pinch, punch, first of the month.
But does anyone ever measure 
at the end of the month whether 
good luck came? I think we ask 
and then forget to look for it. Worse,
I have summoned good luck like 
I should only to find my spirit 
crushed on the anvil of reality by
a random swing from Thor’s hammer.
It’s painful and embarrassing. But 
the ridiculous thing is I still say 
White Rabbits.

*One universe gives God claustrophobia, 
two universes give God a match, 
three universes give God a juggling act--
you can see where this is going.