Step over a broom, you will
give birth to bastards.
Borrow or lend one, bad luck
will be your fingerprint.
Never burn one.
Strike a man with a broom,
he becomes impotent. Strike a woman,
she loses her man.
Buy a broom in May
your friends will vanish
like ice from the mouth of a
river.
Sweep after dark
luck will fly like dust
over the doorsill.
A witch rides one
across the moon while saints
cross themselves.
The gypsy lovers jump one
into poverty, a curse of travel.
Bless a new house
with a new broom
or else.
Joan Colby has published five
books of poetry: The Atrocity Book, The Lonely Hearts Killers, How the Sky
Begins to Fall, The Boundary Waters and Blue Woman Dancing in the Nerve.
She has over 800 poems in such periodicals as Poetry, Atlanta Review,
Hollins Critic, Portland Review and Barrelhouse. Recipient of a
fellowship in literature from the Illinois Arts Council, Joan works as editor
of Illinois Racing News, a publication for the Illinois racing and
breeding industry and lives on a small horse farm in northern Illinois.