This will be a sad poem

This will be a sad poem.

The tale of a phantom chased.

You read she didn’t exist,

But you saw her everywhere.

And so you believed.

That led to the negotiation.

Competing in a game you’d rather not win.

Yet you can’t stop playing.

You need the phantom,

you want the phantom.

Catch her and you’re guaranteed a sunny Tuesday.

She’ll give you fleeting momentum.

A currency with the others, a tit for tat with their rat race glories.

But the truth…

it sticks,

and you can’t quite forget,

that you spent all of your progress,

On a “need,”

driven by a peg,

many rungs beneath,

your blue square Boyne Highlands days,

of early youth.