Marginalia for the Weary

The ones we thought would fly have hit the ground.

The 'Most Likelys' are mostly just lost and found.

I dug through a box for a paper I need

and found 1999, a high-school creed.

Between the bad haircuts and photos of gyms,

past the signatures filled with teenage whims,

is a scrawl in purple glitter, a shaky line

that managed to age much better than mine.

'Don't let the bastards win,' the ink declares.

A ghost in the margin, caught unawares.

The sparkles are dim, but the teeth are still set.

I haven't won yet, but I haven't quit yet.