Imperfections - Olivia Chaney

Crying on a plane to New York, New York

No permit to work nor play

Green card, did you get a green card?

It’s only a short stay —

Traveling alone fans flames

Smokeless, smouldering

I depart without declaration

Almost feeing I could become someone

Except for the hem of my skirt’s undone

Achilles heel, clumsy hole

Somebody stop me baring my soul

Guilt-ridden, provoking

One part my mother with the favour-prompting

Stranger prodding to see how things feel

Just out of sight

I’m perfecting imperfection

That’s what I tell myself

I tell myself

There is no-body else

Steward’s a sleaze, lives in Queens

Aims to please, to meet his kind of girl

See the world, travel by token air-fares

Now I lie on a gay friend’s sofa

Shakespeare’s cuckold throws a blanket over

My many Manhattans, tourist whims

Meat-packing district, my Chelsea mourning

He takes us out for hard-boiled eggs

Salt-beef bagel, oh he’s got good legs

But the whiskey comes up, the rain pours down

No real cure in this grid-locked town

I’m perfecting imperfection

That’s what I tell myself

I tell myself

There is no-body else

Perfecting imperfection

That’s what I’ll tell them when

The flights are flown, the men are all kissed

When there’s nowhere left to yearn

Still I feel a shell breaking

Not sure whose, sure I’m not faking

When was my Lord so ungently tempered

Stopped his ears with my lack of repentance

Lack of repentance

Repentance