THE WORST IT CAN GET
we were swapping words
back and forth
me and an old friend I’d seen once
in the past ten years
mainly we spoke
about the terrible state of the economy
how I couldn’t get a job to save my life
how he’d barely lucked into one
finally it occurred to me
one day
that I was back out west
Las Vegas, actually
and that the worst it could get
would be that I’d just drive over there
to the coast of California
live outta my jeep in a dirty parking lot
and fight the bums
for the empty beer cans in the trash.
“I guess I can't complain,” I told him.
“I've had a pretty good run.”
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