May you stub your toe, ding your elbow
on the doorframe, knock your knee on the computer desk,
crack the shell of a cavity on bacon gristle,
get a blistering sunburn on the first day of spring.

May your children be pigeon-toed and math-challenged,
your husband suffer from high cholesterol and torn rotator cuffs,
your mother become forgetful before her time, your sister
marry a know-it-all who talks too loud at Christmas dinner.

May you forget why you chose someone else, why he seemed
funnier, handsomer–a more promising prospect.  May you stop
on a day like today when gray clouds cover the sun and ask
if life may have been perfect on a different path. ‘Til then

may your cat have hairballs, may your basement leak, may you
wander the house wondering what it was you set out to do.

Originally appeared in Fourteen