Tuesday, October 13, 2020

Mr. D and Me by Dan Provost

Amazed that I
cannot barter with
the devil anymore.

His blood-grime
brood has kept me
warm for more than
fifty years.

He seemed to be always
sitting on my left shoulder,
whispering sweet nothings
in my ear—

Like he did for that
goofy kid in Animal

But my conversations
were a bit more serious.

“Hit that guy, kick
that asshole in the teeth.”

“Grab the knife from
the draw…

“You know what to do.”

I never had the balls
to gut anyone who
had the misfortune
of staggering in my

But that god-damned sharp
kitchen utensil did make
it to my wrist two or three times.

Was able to penetrate
through feeble skin.

Still have the scars
to prove it—and,
it looked like, a couple of
deep cuts would bleed out…

Just as the dealer of death
would show his yellowed
fangs—ready to take me
to nothingness…

The demon and I would
come up with a deal…nothing
much—a soul, a heart…a
terminal trip down Darkness Lane.

He would accept my offer…I
would be able to drink that
next drink…or shove that
rotten straw up my nose.

Temporary altering escape
during my formative years.

Now, I’ve run out of
spirit to bargain with.

The clock is ticking
and I am out of chips
to throw into the ante.

So, Mr. D—take me
home, no need to make
a spectacle of my departure.

The fire and brimstone shit
that shoots through your
bony fingers is proof enough…

My truth,
A merciful, sorrowful

Dan Provost has been published throughout the small press for many years.  He is the author of nine books and lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura

No comments:

Post a Comment

Beer with the devil by Mike Zone

Talking to the devil when you can say you’re not that kind person anymore but you still are just quicksilver sliver of night shivering terro...