Boats on a Beach, Etretat, by Gustave Courbet
Lament of the Perfectionist
I am building a boat in the basement,
and there are still so many details to work out.
I circle the hull to check the rudder’s alignment.
The tiller pulls slightly to the left,
which on an extended tack will affect its course.
I fiddle with details of trim and sand the last
rough patches of woodwork, moving to ever finer
levels of grit. I worry over details of rigging—
sturdy cut of jib, more responsive line system.
When I was twelve and lived on a sailboat with my dad,
he gave me a smaller sailboat to take out on my own
when we moored for the night. I explored the shoreline
and scratched the bottom paint when I pulled the boat ashore.
It was the angriest I’d ever seen him.
What I wanted for my birthday was a jean jacket
and a dad who wasn’t dying.
That was a long time ago. Today, I worry
by the time I’ve worked out all the details
the boat will be too heavy to fit up the stairs.
I can’t decide which color to paint the waterline.
October 6, 2025
Further considerations
Baby Boom and Bust
‘Howdy hoody! Lemme guess: you was just passing through the middle of middle England, and you recognized the flame-decorated Ferrari outside my Hobbit Hole, and you buzzed ‘cos you fancied a parley?'
Telling the Truth
I once told a therapist my father was molesting me. It wasn’t true. I was twenty-five and exhausted, lying awake most nights trying to understand why I felt so sad when nothing in my life was obviously wrong.
Thoughts of Endangered Paper
Here I am, looking at this copy of a // two hundred-dollar book.
this is about capitalism, and The Poet Sees Her Ex at Pride
duty pulled a mountain along lesser used roads. // time was ill-spent preparing workers for the crossing.