I thought I was polite -
if a tad patronizing -
each time someone begged my pardon;
I said if I were perfect I’d be mad!
But this is a paradox:
perfect people wouldn’t get mad.
My imperfect mind wanders…
A baseball pitcher throws a ‘perfect game’,
by getting 27 straight batters out.
But no one strikes out all 27,
none avoids throwing balls and bad pitches.
Is perfection found only in Heaven,
or in the starry eyed souls
of starving poets?
Richard Sponaugle was born 4-20-60 in Maryland and raised in Northern Virginia. He received a BA from George Mason University. A prolific poet and songwriter, he has been published in many venues.