Typos: The Curse of the Careless

I thought it out with care,
Then my fingers did their dance -
Putting it to text
Where it could be seen
And then enhanced.
But cautious though I tried to be
I sometimes hit
An incorrect key
And though that stroke reflects poorly on me
The typo is out there for all to see.
I've never been as perfect, you see
As my family thought
I was born to be.

Too careless or too quickly,
I see it after it is published
And feel a tad sickly.
It's not so much a crime
As it is a coincidence
That typo and hypo
(At least in my case)
Rhyme. Or not!
Too quickly completed
Too late to be deleted
The typo lives on forever
In the text that's read, however
If I recall that perfection's
An impossible dream
The typo became somewhat less
Confessional than it seemed
When I first became aware
That I'd missed something yet again -
Father, forgive me,
I've gone over to Zen.

Missing it once
Then missing it twice
Makes it much harder
To catch it on thrice.
It felt right in the beginning
And read fine on first proofing -
But, darn, it was wrong,
I deserve a good spoofing.

I'll try to do better
(Mother, can you hear?)
To reexamine each letter
To both see it and hear
The voice it will carry
To the reader who looks
At the words I have written
When s/he could be reading good books.
I have earned some demerits
But hope to better my credits
By becoming a bit less hyper
And becoming a more careful typer.