Cool

I always thought it would be cool
To sit at the bar with the Devil himself herself itself whatever
And hang out with Darkness - face to face with the heart of darkness
Stool to stool, shoulder to shoulder, at the bar
Smoking Lucky Strikes, heads haloed by nicotine stained cigarette swirls
Showing off red-devil tattoos and dark and evil iconic jewelry
Sipping flamed cognac
Drunk on full-on black silk suits or black leather jackets or black whatever
The important point being, the Devil and I? We’re dressed in blackblackblack, everything
Even our eyes
Blackblackblack and
So cool-baby-cool, living the
Big, old EPB (Excitement Personified Baby)!
All black and cool and
At first it was like
“Wow… here I am, sitting at the bar
With the Devil himself herself itself whatever and
I think I’ve cum in my pants, died, and gone to Cool Heaven, babies!”
But then the Devil started talking
About himself herself itself whatever
And talking and talking and talking
About himself herself itself - whatever!
And talking and talking and talking
And after a while I was like, “Shut the fuck up, you narcissistic, boring son of a bitch.”
 
Yeah
I thought it would be cool
To sit at the bar with the Devil
 
Bartender?
I’ll pass on the cognac
Give me a New Orleans Holy Water and Jameson’s, straight up

Born and raised in Canada, Heath Houseman started writing plays in the second grade. That morphed into short stories, novels, screenplays and you get the idea. While studying theatre in college, he stumbled upon the poetry of Stan Rice and fell in love with the possibilities. He’s been writing poetry ever since. He's a produced and published playwright, screenwriter, and freelancer. Drank Guinness from the Fountainhead in Dublin, a religious experience that saved his life. Check out his work at: www.heathhouseman.com.