What's the Worst That Could
Contracting a disease or infestation.
A splattered reputation.
Imprisonment for crimes that aren't mine.
A maxed-out credit line.
Brick-mortar home collapsed by temblor, flame,
or usury. A hijacked name.
Forced espionage for a foreign state.
DNA stolen to create
a troop of clones, aimless and psychopathic,
designed for wreaking havoc.
Time-traveling grandchild visiting to warn
that I was never born.
Four badly governed years, or eight, ahead,
with neither cake nor bread.
A Steinway Grand approaching from above.
Or unrequited love.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Claudia Gary would be
pleased to hear them.