Poem
The Devil
© By Ryan Crenshaw
He didn't wear red pajamas
nor a blue dress
nor horns or tail.
Hell's scepter nowhere in sight
(at least not that I could see).
She instead wore green
a sweater, very nice.
Hooves un-cloven,
tongue un-forked
Oh! and what a tongue
Fire and brimstone
taste so good.
(then again, I smoke).
With war and famine,
plague and bipartisan government
She instead recited Cosmo.
And the Damned has seen
so many movies,
read all these great books.
At length, over coffee, we spoke.
(I was riveted)
She hated Hitler,
loved Thoreau,
and I didn't mind that much
that the Dark One was a cat-person.
(It was sort of cute).
He didn't play the fiddle
or the flute for that matter.
She loved the Stones
and always wanted
to see Paris
in the spring maybe,
just once
before she dies.
The black claws are a myth,
and I'm pretty sure about the wings.
Oh, and she didn't take my soul either!
(my pen was out of ink).
