As with a number of my recent poems, this one was started in one of the Wednesday meetings of the Barcelona Poetry Group that I attend.  The theme for the evening was Heroes & Villians, and the present poem grew out of a consideration of the concept of the 'fatal flaw' that Aristotle suggested was an essential ingredient in the make up of a tragic hero.
     I think that there is an element of something which has figured in other of my poems, the growing concern with age about what you have achieved.  Perhaps it is a sort of consolation to look back on the 'heroes' from the teaching in my youth and look at the way that all the Great Figures that it was suggested that we might look up to and take as our guides have been systematically debunked.  Livingstone, Nightingale, Churchill, Baden-Powell all have been subject to greater scrutiny and the fuller picture of their achievements and their character oddities has lessened their attraction - though it has made them much more human!
     So that I think that the poem is a combination of initial awe, followed by a sense of inadequacy, culminating in a membership of that group of boys that Golding so forcefully presented in Lord of the flies as they danced around the fire chanting Kill the pig!  And which resulted in the death of the 'saintly' character of Simon.
     The poem does not suggest that the suave and confident people are necessarily blameless, but it does suggest that it is easier to draw / a finger's cutting edge and participate in the destruction of public character and move right on than accept that the major flaw might be in oneself.

Fatal Flaw

They stand, these people,

suave and confident: complete.

A wall of seeming competence

that blocks the gaze.

They force all thoughts to centre –

on a ragged nail which snags

and nags and tips your poise

to mumbled, furtive nibblings;

where all attempts to

teeth-trim roughness fail.

Frustration cuts short patience;

keratin is torn to quick and blood.

Better, by far, to draw

a finger’s cutting edge

along doubt’s shadow

darkening the public face

and watch flayed reputations

curl and sink to dust.

It’s simple then to lick

the red away and

move right on.

As always any comments will be appreciated.