Icons, in the natural order of things,
almost always become demons.

They spend their loosened time
in sulfurous celebrity bars.

They put on horned shoes,
run through hell collecting fire.

They come back burnt,
drunk on notoriety.

They buy houses next door
and keep you up as they party all night.

In daylight they take up all your time
making you worry.

What happened, you say.
They used to be so bright and such.

What happened, you say.
It becomes all your breakfast chatter.

Maybe there will be
a redemption arc. 

Maybe a demon or two
will be proven to have issues.

Maybe they drank and were abused
and were bipolar and addicted to fame.

Maybe they’ll make a come back
and claim an expanded niche among icons.

Your breakfast chatter slows down.
You wait for the next icon turned demon. 

There will always be a next one.
Without redemption arcs we are nothing.

We barely remain citizens if there is no icon
to revile or demon to embrace. 

As we are not icons
we cannot do it for ourselves.