Driving Rt. 48 I see the Lokay Lanes sign
celebrating a 300 game and I am filled with longing.
Never have I done anything the best it can be done;
the feat must feel like the first big winter snow
where new lovers shut themselves indoors
stay in bed while white piles in inches on power lines.
I cannot despair. The Mr. Tire mechanic knows
perfection, an oil change in under thirty minutes,
so do broiler cooks pumping-out perfect
medium rare steaks on New Year’s Eve.
It’s the way Incas fit stones together with no mortar.
It’s there, always right in front of us,
ripe plums hanging from low branches
easy to grasp, not even a 300 game,
but the way a lover rests her feet on my lap.
Perfection can be found anywhere,
so long as we let it lean in and kiss us.
Pittsburgh Quarterly is now accepting submissions for its online poetry feature. PQ Poem is seeking poetry from local, national and international poets that highlight a strong voice and good use of imagery, among other criteria. To have your work featured, send up to three previously unpublished poems in Word or PDF format as well as a brief bio to firstname.lastname@example.org. Simultaneous submissions are accepted, but if work is accepted elsewhere, please alert us.