My son confirms my penchant for perfection
Must be a genetic contribution to my
Psyche since when I finally ceded protection
Of the squeezy paint bottle for him to try
To fill in the snowman’s face with white, he quickly
Grew upset when the small triangle meant
For the carrot nose blanched pale and sickly
Beneath some out-of-bounds tint. I went
To the kitchen for a paper towel assuring
My two-year-old emotion replica all
Would be well–remembeing repeated bouts during
Piano lessons wanting to quit and bawl.
Leonard Cohen wrote about the un-win,
The cracked everything, how the light gets in.
