Disaster

What if, on this twenty-first day of May,
as I approach birthday number eighty,
a comet the size of Rhode Island hits Rhode Island?

What if the age of humans becomes a layer
in the sedimentary record
right above the age of dinosaurs 

and some future generation of cockroaches
points to that grayish seam and correctly posits
that it must have been a comet that wiped us out?

What if it is only a tornado and it only hits my house
and I am the only casualty? What if people notice
the wreckage of my house and say "Now that was freaky"?

What if my heart decides it has seen enough
and my cardio-vascular system absconds to the coast?
What if I am on the Commuter Rail

headed to Boston for my poetry class
when all four chambers of my heart
go on strike and a hero-conductor

defibrillates me on the floor on the no-noise car
and I am revived and rushed
to Mass General for a triple bypass?

What if I stub my pinky toe on the corner
of  my desk? What if my broken toe complains
whenever I try to walk?

What if people see me limping in pain?
What if people think I am old,
maybe as old as eighty on my next birthday?


		(First published in Living our Blessings - 2025)