predicting failure guarantees one the limpest success.
it ensures the consolation prize: "well hey, at least i was right!"

well,
hey.
at least i was right.

today i collected my meager winnings.
my suspicions were confirmed -
i was dead-on about the one conjecture i hoped i wasn't dead-on about.

as the rest of me fumed and ached and moaned,
my brain gloated about its tiny victory.
crowed, "i told you so."
as if rubbing it in could dull the blow.

it could not.
my flimsy rebate sure didn't make the wound smart any less.