I’d be one of the devil’s minions but lack some of the skillset.
You won’t need a leap of faith when the devil comes to call.
You’ve got the promise of low-hung fruit
and a dowry for the widow. Stained hands
hang the butcher’s apron at the altar.
The purchase price of 144,000 will get you
in with the great crowd floating on a balloon,
the backend pinned to your immortal sheet.
An addict to motion, you follow the arrows
painted on the street. Your clock hands spin,
appearing still and showing your progress.
Your childhood rubs against your signatures
filed and sent to an office glowing with
fluorescents, informed by the ventilation system.
Mephisto won’t bother with you. He’s likes a challenge
and the lender already has your life bundled and baled.
Hell has a special ring set aside for those of us who tried.
Copyright © Barrie Evans 2008
Sometimes I publish a poem like this–unfinished–just to spur me on to dealing with it further. Otherwise, I often leave them sitting in my journal and don’t bother with them.
When I reread this statement I realize that all I’m saying is that I’m often impatient.