first fact fell like fat snow
made things slippery
I stayed cosy

then facts piled up
so I played with facts
threw fact-balls at my friends

then facts fell like sleet
standing up became hard
the slightest nudge sent me sliding

how strange I thought
fact — dangerous
I held on tight

until fact fell like ash
burning fragments
oily residue of destruction

this fact smeared me
and I rubbed hard to clean smudges
left when I brushed off fact

then fact /  fact / fact
smacked me like a fist / fact
fact / fact / fact / woke me

(in the dream snow or sleet or smuts or fists  –but I knew it was fact)
fact is / fact remains

fact I watched from a safe distance
fact I belittled
fact I tried to rub away

Poem and photography by Jo Mariner