Old Scratch came around
looking for a soul
but only found me
and that cribage board,
shuffling cards in boredom.
So the Devil smiles,
taking the facing seat
and says: "Deal, mortal."
grinning as he adds
"Your soul for losing."
I give him nothing
but a smug grin
looking to ask why
only to strangely find
tears on his face.
"I gotta meet quota"
he admits in chagrin
as I deal cards
"But days like these,
the Other Side wins."
As he lifts up
his cards to play
I break his heart.
"No bets today, Scratch.
But coffee's on me."
We played as viscious
as any other time
when bets were made,
but without the cheating
and muggings of old.
Its sad when folks are down on their luck
And old Adversaries come to commiserate over bad times
But over the board you form a bond true,
that is not shownb the pegs' final positions.
When he finally left
I watched his back
curved and slumped over,
and had to sigh
as he walked away.
If it's this bad
that Satan feels beaten
by the sagging economy,
the why do I
not smile in joy?
Or is it this:
that over our games
as he tried stealing
my immortal soul away
we each earned respect?
Besides, I only won this time by getting in a fifteen-two
before having to tell him "Go" for one-twenty-one.
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