The Devil popped ‘round for a visit last night;
the donkey he came in on was undersized,
and Nick’s heels (bleeding and cracked to the bone)
were scraping over the burnt rice stubble
in such a way that my beard itched.

His banjo growled unearthly melodies;
he chipped a nail while strumming those rusty strings,
and his eyes (never did they make contact)
were examining the core of my soul
in such a way that my heart bled.

I pulled away and opened a window,
felt hesitation rippling through her body
as she let out a sigh that warmed my back.
The bed draped in a blanket of silence;
I’d seen the Devil in her eyes.