Stop plastering the site with photos
of your strapping boy on the cliff
of manhood, pitching a no-hitter,
don’t publicize his tuxedo’d beauty
posing with his prom date,
or family jaunts to look at colleges for the fall.
Better to shield him from happenstance,
mistaken identity, the evil eye;
protect him from what you won’t imagine:
a street race
Pass an egg above his body while he’s sleeping.
Make the mano fico over him with your fist.
Sew small mirrors into his clothes to reflect misfortune.
Tie a red string around his wildness.
When someone gives him a compliment, spit over your shoulder three times.
Then touch wood.
Stop flaunting your boy’s shining face,
his sweetness, how he still
lets you kiss him goodnight.
Listen to me:
Like you, I was once besotted.
Don’t tempt the gods.