I hadn’t wanted to believe myself Numbered among the unlucky ones. There’d always seemed an arrogance in that Of which my superstition made me wary. Nor was the title very accurate. In fact it seemed a blessing or a talent Sometimes, or its own kind of deeper luck, The way I walked into each suffering Which was its own intricate world complete With wild children wrangling to be king Of every broken square of concrete And market stalls of…… More »