By Josie Burns
Opinions, opinions. She always took them on board.
Whether they made things better, worse or nothing at all.
Scrolling through her phone, she took on each and every note.
‘Poetry’s shit. No one reads words anymore,’ they wrote.
‘Thanks for the opinion, I’ll start again,’ she replied.
But just at that moment, she snapped inside.
‘There’s never been a more brutal form of feedback.’
Then evolution piped up, ‘I might have an opinion on that.’
The semitrailer shrieked. ‘Look out!’ someone cried.
Entangled in the bullbar, she obligingly died.