the enemy in poetry

The perfect is the enemy of the good.
The perfect is the enemy of the good.
The perfect is the enemy of the good.
This is the closest thing I’ve ever come to a mantra because…
because I sure as hell am far from perfect and so
maybe I’m good after all.

The perfect is the enemy of the good.
I mean, I am one hell of a sinner but
all I can offer in my own defense in that
most to nearly all of mine have been
sins of omission not
sins of comission.
I very rarely breach human ethics actively
my deep failings generally manifest as
inaction instead.

The perfect is the enemy of the good.
Not standing up to cruel bastards
to try and keep the party light
not telling the unvarnished truth
so as to not make enemies
not asking some woman out for fear of rejection
then some other woman
then some other woman
then some other woman.
Christ if you add all the missed chances up
then look at the odds of anything happening
two or three of them along the way
almost statistically had to have worked out
had I had the courage to try every single time
but I digress.

The perfect is the enemy of the good.
But yes, anyway, nearly everything I’ve done wrong
I’ve done wrong in not-doing
not wrong in doing, if that makes any sense.
Usually for the sake of
not wanting to step on any toes or
not wanting to hurt anyone for my sake.
And yes sometimes for the sake of indecision
and yes sometimes for the fear
of being turned away if I tried.

The perfect is the enemy of the good.
Still, I’ve done a lot more good than bad and
I try my best to do more good
despite or maybe
because of my imperfections.
Because yes as we were all reminded by
the last election,
the perfect is the enemy of the good.

The perfect is the enemy of the good.
A woman was held to a standard of ethical spotlessness
no man who ever stood for national office ever had and
no man who ever stood for national office ever could and
it peeled off just enough of the Purity Police
to put a subliterate game show host in front
of that big atomic button.

The perfect is the enemy of the good.
In accepting only squeaky clean perfection
and also because of conscious or subconscious sexism
there’s a drunken Nazi monkey at the wheel
instead of a competent experienced but
slightly tarnished bureaucrats
having made no more gray-tinged backroom deals
than anyone else who had gotten that far and
a less than most of them and yet
and yet here we are.
So I’m proud and honoured to be
good instead of perfect.
I know the enemy.
Not just in politics but
in finishing a novel or a script
in doing something quality but
seeing only all the over-thought-on flaws
then using it as giving-up’s just cause.

So here’s for the good and
fuck the perfect
I’ll try to be good instead and
have very few regrets
except the women
I wouldn’t stop regretting that
not even if I could.
The perfect is the enemy of the good.