Written Words – (perfect)

my hands are sweating (I want this to be perfect)
for no reason, no grade, there’s no point
I just want it to be perfect

as if pushing myself was a necessity
an obsession – and my expectation
is not letting me let go

There’s a pride that comes from a prior generation
that has nothing to do with with reward
that has nothing to do with grades
there’s no payment for perfect

that’s just the way it should be done
as if expectations grew from the dust of depression
and a nation’s greatest generation gave me a work ethic
and now I adhere to it because he would have expected it

and I’d never want to let him down

so I wear my blue-collared shirt to every presentation
my white undershirt underneath in his honor 
I do the math in my head out of habit
I still hear him

and so a life that started stealing watermelons and swimming in the bay
is echoing in a presentation at Oxford today

just another reason I want it to be perfect

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