Perdition

The devil came to escort me to hell,

Payment in exchange for a traded soul.

I imagined a fort, a citadel,

Not wanting to leave, I tried to cajole.

I inquired about purgatory,

And if it would be a sort of rest stop.

Annoyed, he said, “Dante’s allegory,”

Ignoring my pout and squeezed out teardrop.

I asked if the heat was humid or dry,

Worried that my flat-ironed hair would frizz.

An odd question he would not dignify,

But, instead, replied, “It is what it is.”

Ultimately, though, a deal is a deal,

Embarking upon my final ordeal.