perfectionists

some people are perfectionists.

it's a stressful life.
the thread, the lint, the scuff
of shoe.

a zipper that refuses to pull.
the day
is ruined so easily,

by ice, or rain.
how quickly it all goes south,
that feeling
that everything is ok,
slides down
the drain,

when the tire goes flat,
when
the call is late,

when the stocking runs, or the
heel breaks. one single strand
of hair,

out of place.
the roots going grey,
the unmade bed, forgotten
on the way to work. all terrible
things,

imperfect, to the point
that life is killing them.