The pessimist might be the best
at predicting the future,
since they might never suffer
for being wrong.
If their prediction of something
calamitous comes to pass,
you can hear their “Told ya so”
in obnoxious sing-song.
But if their prognostication goes
cockeyed, people glad for the error
might give the pessimist a pass even
for being wrong all along.
However, should the optimist’s
prediction go down in flames,
dashed expectations are likely
to incite the milling throng.
This is why I tend to lean toward
the negative call, since I’ve found
safety in not coming on too brightly
too strong.
Now I’ll end this piece, positive
in predicting your negative reaction
to my forcing these “-ong” rhymes
way, way, way too long.
A “prediction” poem on Day 14 of this poetic death march to May, when I try to write a story every day.
Prediction: I won’t.
