Ghost of Halloween

It was only the middle of October, but the Halloween decorations were ominously out.

All of October was haunted
by the specter of my greatest fear
and every day inched forward
even my birthday, slowed
by the spooky remnant of my
failures past.

They whispered to me as I worked
And every cheerful well-done task
was draped in the white sheet
of a fatal flaw.

For every fixed format
there was a flawed indent;
for every nuanced comment,
a botched screenshare.

I dressed up in the costume of a smile
to hide my grief; approached the ghost
as if it were a mismatched sock
discovered in the laundry;
looked at it askance;
asked it why it was there.

It looked at me and said, "Boo!"
very seriously, like an actor
doing its best with a fourth-rate script.

I did not give it the satisfaction
of looking scared.
Though terrified, I knew
I could not afford to do anything
but very calmly walk away,
awaiting All Saints' Day
and better times.