i’m starting to believe
there’s a hillbilly hex on this house. 
ask the appliances. 
there are two toasters talking mean about me
over at the county dump
alongside a sweeper that spits dirt and vitriol
and the gushing, gossiping, coffee pot
and the groaning, complaining, water heater. 
go ahead and ask them. 
maybe they’ve heard about who hates me. 
i’m starting to believe 

the bad luck must be supernatural.
i must’ve left stray hair somewhere
and a granny witch scooped it up
and did a bit of bane work
pointed in my direction. 
it’s been a broke down year
and there ain’t a fix in sight
and i’m starting to believe
i had it coming.