Perfectionism


What I have learned about "perfection"
is that it only exists in a dictionary.

We strive to reach it. We never do.

Commas in just the right places,
polished glasses,
spotless silverware,
ironed shirts,
fresh sheets,
a perfectly behaved child,
the perfect manicure,
the perfect sentence.

The war with dust finally won: not a speck

for a split second

and not a split second longer.

I’ve missed the summer
and my dad’s birthday—again.

Nobody toasts with my perfect glasses . . .

. . . commas in all the wrong places, unpolished glasses, chipped nails;
guests are raising their eyebrows.

We cheer for my dad’s birthday cake over a card with an imperfect note scribbled on it,
and we comment on a butterfly we saw today.

The summer’s at its fullest,
and yes, it is settled:

I'll die unprepared.





To a Politician


Be vigilant, be chary,
for you never know what may befall you.

Some diseases mysteriously hit at the right time
for the majority to become the minority.
Some events are to be forever silenced.

You were aware of the danger.

Had you known the outcome of all this,
would it have made any difference?

We both know the answer. For, thankfully,
there will always be those
fighting and dying for the People.




 
The 34


When the time came
to cast a vote—

I did it for silver coins.
I did it because I knew he'd do it, and he'd do it,
and he, and he, too.
I did it because I believed I would belong to the majority.
Where the majority is, public sentiment will follow,
carefully guided by our own skillful hands.

Birds and seeds, and a song of a little girl
can all cross borders.
I—I live within the structures of my society.
They're rigid and they bite.

Learning the ropes took me quite a while.
I vaguely recall
I used to be innocent and curious,
and I, too, used to sing.

I can furnish explanations.
After all, I could be a believer
in a different cause;
and can’t everything be justified
one way or another?

Somehow, though,
when at the end of the day
I go for a walk,
I can see that everyone
walks in the opposite direction.

And I can hear the calling:
turn your flags upside down
to greet your elected officials.





At Play


I'll take the azure,
the breeze, your smile,

the red, the triangle, the whale,
that weird pen that you can't write anything with,
the purring of a cat.

I'll throw them all in a salt shaker,
giving an extra push to the whale,
add a few grains of rice just in case,

shake it all well—

or not—

and pull out a finished poem.

It’s all impressions,
a fleeting thought
caught on the run by the sleeve,
never to be seen again.