The Devil's In The Retail

The Devil’s In The Retail

Doing the shopping is always a chore, pushing a trolley down many an aisle,

But on my last trip down to Tesco, I saw something which forced  me to smile.

I’d come through fresh meat and groceries, and was just picking some bread from the shelf,

When I noticed a miserable presence: in short, it was the Devil himself.

I knew it was him from the pitchfork, his goat’s legs, his horns and the cloak.

There was his red face and his sharp teeth, and all round him there was a faint smell of smoke.

But there was something in his demeanour; I could tell that something wasn’t quite right.

He looked all miserable, pasty and drawn:  the demonic presence looked quite a sight.

Now I’m not a believer in Hades, but I couldn’t bear to see him that way,

So I asked Lucifer of his troubles, and this is what he sadly had to say:

“I’ve got a narrowing job description, and Forces of Darkness are facing huge cuts,

We’re out-sourcing Temptation Services, and minor devils are out on their butts.

And the price of gas goes ever upward, so we can’t afford to run the fires all night.

The Tormentors have asked for higher pay, and Hell’s budget has got very tight.”

Then he swished his forked tail around for a bit, and his visage looked dark, and of Death,

He had a bad case of halitosis, and he could have stopped a horse with his breath.

“You see - there’s a lack of believers; no-one these days gives much of a sod.

That’s meant re-structuring the heavens, and down-sizing imposed by the Lord God.

The Book of Revelation’s been revised, reduced to some lifestyle hints and tips,

The number of The Beast is One-One-One, gone are the Horsemen Of The Apocalypse.

Then there’s all of these Health & Safety rules, and the Human Rights of the bad sinners.

We’re not allowed to keep them all starving – that’s why I’m shopping for ready dinners.

The terrible reports on Trip Advisor were the straw that broke the camel’s back.

We’ve had to close the burning lake of fire, and Beelzebub’s been given the sack.”

Old Harry cut a figure quite forlorn, and he was far from a presager of doom,

The smoke no longer swirled about him, and his features showed up clearly his gloom.

He said he couldn’t stop chatting longer – if he’s late then his dog Cerberus yelps.

So I wished The Evil One “best of luck” – well, they say that “Every Little Helps”.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013