By Vincent Renstrom
Prince of Darkness never shook hands,
flossed his teeth religiously, never sweated,
didn’t like heat, kept his windows open year round.
Computer whiz, master mindpicker,
keeper of serious secrets, cruelly conceived,
yet constructive critic, a manipulator, who always
leaned toward the bizarre side of life.
Quirky, weird, may have been insane,
ferocious fu manchu masking picture-perfect smile,
frizzy black Bozo hair haloing balding pate,
long-sleeved flannel shirt his winter coat,
t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers his summer uniform.
That’s what they found him in one hot July day
in the dark green Mustang with the vanity plates
that his parents bought him—RICKY T—
when he met up with the Real Devil
who, I’m sure, advised him to do it,
assured him it was inevitable.
And the heat overwhelmed
and everything conspired
and they shook on it.
Copyright 2014 Renstrom