The Devil is Amish<\/strong><\/p>\n

Out of the cradle, then lighting a candle
\nnext to the bed where she lays,
\nher lipstick red and the cigarette menthol.
\nThe air humid with perspiration,
\nyears before your lives
\nwere in your phones and
\nyour phones were in your pockets.<\/p>\n

The Devil is Amish, you\u2019re hardly squeamish,
\nbut you know that a hint of sex
\nis as prohibited as pleasure; all murder is mass,
\na genocide of one,
\njust like committing adultery
\neven though you never asked
\nyour eyes to see her random smile.<\/p>\n

Preacher quoted unknown scripture
\nbut described familiar sins
\nas you glanced at her ankles
\nglimmering through the shadows
\nbeneath the pew, as sensual as you later
\ndiscovered her inner thigh to be,
\nbut here is when even the sight of
\nthose ankles is too much to resist.
\nThoughts never obey a body bound by law.<\/p>\n

The devil\u2019s pencil scribbles lyrics
\nobscuring the blatancy of desire
\nwith complimentary implications
\nusing eyes and hair as metaphor.
\nYour friends passed the note
\nto her friends who passed the note to her,
\nback when she could still blush.<\/p>\n

In your mind when she\u2019s not there and
\nwhen she is here in front of you and
\nwanting you she is
\nall that\u2019s in your mind, so
\nmuch of she you ignore her and
\nforget any non-tactile memory.<\/p>\n

In sunshine or shadows you hid.
\nKept the nose to the grindstone,
\nwrote the checks on time and maintained
\ncredit rating respectability,
\nbut no matter how bloody
\nthe battle or the thousands
\nof famine-starved infants,
\nSatan always found time for you.<\/p>\n

The son and daughter and
\nthe mortgage, the annual flooded basement
\nthe career disappointment, the bills, bills, bills.
\nYour parents died, the children grew
\ntoo busy with resentment to call.
\nThe intimacy as constant as swampland mosquitos,
\nit was always July there between you two,
\ndysentery displacing desire.<\/p>\n

The holidays turned
\ntragic, then lonely, mild sorrow,
\ncable TV reruns, still an improvement
\nover the false merriness of sniping, mutual
\nblame was all you had left, hate is not indifference.
\nLawyers proportioned the rest, on the
\ncourthouse steps, your eyes never met;
\nthat goodbye was forever.<\/p>\n

Years later, working for the pension
\nand the healthcare, you play golf just so
\nas not to drink alone.
\nDespite terrorist attacks and
\ndeceiving your fellow citizens
\nthrough plebiscite, enriching
\nthe wealthy and punishing the poor,
\nthe devil still manages the massage parlor lobby,
\nthat monthly happy ending is still in your budget<\/p>\n

Summer, commuter train\u2019s
\nsudden lurch jostles her shoulders
\nand her t-shirt slips for a moment
\nrevealing more of the apex and
\nthat sweaty cleavage was all you needed to
\ngo home and dream about killing an ambassador
\nor Senator or that neighbor next door
\nwho plays his music so loud
\neveryone can hear.<\/p>\n

If you only had the patience to fill out
\na hand gun permit application,
\nyou would keep the beretta
\nin your jacket, get close enough
\nthen shoot him in the head.
\nYou don\u2019t want him to suffer or survive.
\nThen she would see your face and name
\non the internet, eagerly confirm your
\nrequest to be Facebook friends.<\/p>\n

copyright 2012, held by auhtor<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n