Like a permanent scratch in your previously
unblemished eyeglasses,
Like the excessive sugar in your finely
brewed cup of Earl Grey tea,
Like a blundering stroke on your almost
perfect art piece,
Like the last pinky fingernail that has been cut too deep,
Like a robust Politics essay with a lackadaisical,
last-minute conclusion,
Like a delicate melody that ended on a
jarring note,
Like a charismatic, intelligent, witty and
committed man with bad breath,
Like a streak of successful football passes
that ended off with a shot off target,
Like the
private with a psychomotor problem in the otherwise synchronised marching
contingent,
Like getting annoyed and swearing at the
final hour of your otherwise triumphant “no swear day”,
Like a throbbing leg cramp at the final
mile of your marathon,
Like that red velvet muffin that you could
not resist on the last day of your sugar diet,
Like a perfectly timed photo that was overexposed,
It could have been perfect, if not for that
one thing.
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