For fans of a certain musician, a certain recent ticket-buying experience was a certain nightmare. That was the inspiration for this Typewriter Rodeo poem.
The Great War (of buying Taylor Swift tickets)
As The Lucky One with a presale code
the honor to bring tickets home
for my sister, girlfriend, mom
is all Mine.
At ten, That’s When I get in line.
With 2000+ fans in front,
my little dot
Stay, Stay, Stays still.
In this queue so Treacherous,
we watch and watch,
pray to False Gods.
Still, Sweet Nothing.
But then, a chime!
Ready For it… or not,
you’re here. It’s time!
Find seats, not floor
but not The Outside.
Click and click
Oh no! A Glitch.
Breathe.
Begin Again.
Click. You paid!
Sparks fly,
but it’s no fairytale, today.
‘Cause oops, Our seats
are behind the stage.
Call it What You Want:
A Gold Rush,
the End Game.
I’ll call it The Great War
where no Swiftie
came out unscathed.