SMALL COMFORTS

It could be so much worse.

I could be dead

you could be dead

or ugly.

My mother could have aborted

or I could live in some Third World crisis state

or been born a Native American

only to receive some pox-infested blanket

because I had the bad luck to live on good land.

I could have been a killer

or blind

or stupid

or smelly.

Really, there are any number of What-Ifs that could leave me

so unhappy

so lost so beaten.

It could

been so much worse

which serves

at this moment

as small relief indeed.