Mister Imperfection

It's cracked in the middle. It bears ugly splotches. It's a little misshaped and it gives off a jaundiced vibe. But for all that's wrong with this poor unsightly button, there's plenty of good to appreciate as well: It's tried and true Bakelite. It's a sturdy keepsake from the 1920's (marked with all the ancient scuffs of a reckless flapper). It's an art deco button, evidenced by the way the three leaves curl up the sides like stylized tendrils. It's a one-of-a-kind treasure. Moreover, this button reminds me of a poem I wrote many years ago, titled Mister Imperfection. And here's how it goes...

Mister Imperfection

I’m the dud of misdirection.

Call me Mister Imperfection.

See the crack on my pagoda.

There’s no bubble in my soda.

Look at me, another dent—

Like rhino-prints on wet cement.

Now every failure seems as though

I’m drowning in the undertow.

Perfect men are nicely painted.

I am faulty, chipped and tainted.

See the scratch on my toboggan.

There’s no logic in my noggin.

On the fritz and out of whack,

If nature ever sends me back

I’ll raise my voice and question God:

Are you the one who made me flawed?

Look at me, another scar—

Like fractures on a Mason jar.

Now every failure seems as if

I’m falling off a higher cliff.

I’m a Greek with no Apollo.

My piñata must be hollow.

See me wallow through correction.

Call me Mister Imperfection.

-Sherbert McGee