Luck

Because you should not see it through glass

Auntie Sylvia would phone to warn us

the new moon was out.

My mum would be on her feet –

Where’s my blasted purse? – and gone,

letting in the cold, slippers in the yard,

ten pence piece in hand to turn

so she’d be lucky. I must have been thirteen

by the time I asked about her specs,

aren’t they glass? Of course!

she said. That’s why! All these years

turning silver for nothing. Even now

with glasses off, she’s outside still searching

though she must know her coin’s

more nickel than precious metal.

If the moon can’t be found – Damn cloud! –

she’ll turn it over anyway, last month she did.

Scratch card next day, fifty quid.

from Just Our Luck (The Garlic Press 2008)

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