Deep darkness closed around me as I lay there, wide awake:
A shapeless dread swirled in my head; a fear I could not shake.
As the church clock in the sleeping town tolled out the midnight bell
I dressed in haste and then retraced the steps I knew so well.
One empty road ran west to east, the other north to south.
And where they met the stage was set. My heart was in my mouth.
The full moon slipped behind a cloud. A silence fell. And then
A voice I knew: “Well, well; it’s you. And so we meet again.”
I turned. There Satan stood once more. He gave a ghastly smile.
“How long’s it been? I haven’t seen you out here in a while.
What brings you to this fateful place at this ungodly hour?
You here to make a deal; to stake your soul for some new power?”
I took my courage in both hands. “You broke your word,” I said.
He didn’t speak, but my knees went weak as I saw his eyes glow red.
I went on: “We agreed that you would help me write some stuff.
And in return my soul would burn. You said things could get rough.
I know in hard times and dark days is where real poems are;
But with everything that’s happening, I think you’ve gone too far.
You’ve unleashed forces much too great. What gentle heart can cope
With all this strife, endure a life devoid of joy or hope?”
The Devil laughed. “I’m sorry, son; not sure that I can see
The problem here, but so I’m clear: you think it’s down to me
That Brexit, Boris Johnson, Donald Trump and climate change
Have come along? Well, boy, you’re wrong: yeah, I’m good, but my range
Of diabolic miseries for you folks ain’t that wide.
I ain’t to blame, though it’s a shame I’m not. God knows I’ve tried.”
“But what about our bargain?” I protested, feeling bold.
“I’m way too stressed to write my best. I think I’ve been mis-sold.”
Ol’ Satan shrugged. “It ain’t my fault you’re led by cheats and fools.
I tempt ‘em, true, but only you elect ‘em. Them’s the rules.”
He grinned. “Don’t worry. You can trust your pal Beelzebub:
Be sure they’ve got a special spot in my infernal club.”
Then he sighed. “Truth is, this Devil gig ain’t all it used to be.
I do my worst, but they get there first. They’re running rings round me.
And when I look at all those crooks, the charlatans and liars
Who run the show, I think: ‘You know, perhaps I’ll just retire.’”
We stood there at the crossroads, just as we’d done twice before.
“What now?” I said. He shook his head. “This time, son, I’m not sure.”
He smoothed his Prada jacket, gazed down at his cloven feet.
Then shrugged again. “Can’t help you, friend. You finally got me beat.”
I snapped. “Come on: you know I have to write of the events
They’ve ushered in; but I can’t begin to make the slightest sense
Of all the rage, division and the damage being done.
Hard as I try, the well’s run dry. Help me, O Wicked One.”
Then Satan looked me in the eye. I shuddered. “Very well,”
He softly drawled, and my whole skin crawled. “Then pack your bags for Hell.
I’ll give you all the words and grit you need to be the voice
Of unity; and then let’s see if you live to rue your choice.
“The fact is, son, you’ll waste your time: most folks have no desire
To be disabused of their own views. You’ll be preaching to the choir
Or trying to win round hearts and minds that were made up long ago.
Don’t look to me for sympathy when it turns out I told you so.”
“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” I said. The Devil glared.
“Oh really?” he asked sneeringly. “Not many men have dared
To answer back; and those that did are wishing fervently
They never had. You think I’m bad now? Just you wait and see.”
“I’m sorry, Mighty Prince,” I gasped, “I really meant no harm.
“But I’m not a man who thinks he can do anything to calm
A fevered nation, heal the fractures, make the whole thing right.
I just need ways to get through days and sleep again at night.”
The red flame in his eyes died down. I gulped and breathed again.
“Son, I like you. But I can’t do a thing to ease your pain:
Remember that my job is spreading discord and despair.
I’d lose my clout if word got out that I’d been known to care.”
A faint light touched the eastern sky. I said: “Time’s running short
And here I am, still in a jam. You know, I really thought
That third time would be lucky; you and I would seal a pact
And we’d both win from our part in this hellish double-act.”
A sulphurous cloud erupted as he snarled: “Boy, don’t you see?
“These crazy times are full of rhymes for you; but look at me:
I’m old-school and I can’t compete with this new breed of hood.
Thought I’d done well at raising Hell; but these bad boys are good.”
The earth revolved. The bright stars wheeled. The Devil gave a cough.
“Well, that’s it, son; I guess we’re done. High time I headed off.
But you keep writing, boy, you hear? This is the lot you’ve drawn.”
A puff of smoke, and I awoke to face another dawn.
My latest poetic encounter with the Prince of Darkness…a little light relief on a day as hot as hell. N.