In the Face of Long-held Prejudices

 
Poetry is rain.
Fiction is snow.
Heroin is a monkey or a horse.
Addiction, a demon.

But gauze blankets, room temperature
And erosion are all subtler nemeses.

Sixth sense a distant screaming,
She’s certain they are catching up,
But can’t see a thing over her shoulder.

You, loyal reader, know she was overtaken miles ago.

Soon it will be time to pay.
And then maybe she’ll know, too.