Imperfect

The entryway to the barn is leaning to one side.
Snow, all over the ground, has blown in to cover the floor.
Still, it is a shelter of sorts, a windbreak
from a bitter winter. Fragile as it is,
it is welcome.

You have needed such shelter many times in your life.
Imperfect, shakey, invaluable
when the storm is more than you could survive,
making you less likely to criticise the imperfect,
which may be unstable, like yourself,
and yet, a saving grace, again, at times, like yourself.

About this poem

There is a prevailing myth that we have to be perfect to be wonderful. Nothing could be more from the truth.

Thanks to the waitress who served me this morning at my second-choice diner, the inspiration for today’s poem,

The picture is from a barn a few miles from my home in West Pawlet. Since I took the picture, the entryway collapsed. I am so glad I got pictures of it before it fell.

Tom