Bad Luck Shirt
I have a bad luck shirt.
It’s not the shirt’s fault, I
know.
I shouldn’t blame the shirt for
the very stupid thing
I said
the last time that I wore it.
It’s fine.
(The shirt, I mean.)
They made it in a factory
ten thousand miles away. They didn’t weave
the bad luck in.
It has stripes. And barrel cuffs.
And a straight point
collar.
It’s a nice shirt,
that one.
The bad luck part is mine.
I said the stupid thing,
the shirt
doesn’t talk.
It’s not the shirt’s fault, but
I can’t wear it again.
It’s sitting in a pile of clothes that I
will give away
for someone else to wear,
and maybe they will have
some good luck
wearing
my bad luck shirt.
*
Dan Berick is a writer based in Cleveland, Ohio, whose poetry and fiction have appeared in The Storms and The Interpreter’s House, among others. Dan is also a lawyer, a husband, a father, and a graduate of Columbia University and the University of Chicago.
