THE DEVIL'S DINNER

“So glad that you could make it!”

He declared as she walked in

“I’ve been waiting for this moment”

Adding with a little grin

Their letters had been frequent

Making friends along the way

She’d taken pity on him

During his abstinence away

Pen pals they had become

Through a friend who knew a friend

He was a reformed character

A mind now on the mend

Betsy had been troubled

She’d let a sheltered life

Her parents were much older

She caused them so much strife

So as she walked into the room

Her mind and soul felt free

No one to look in judgement

She could be happy being ‘me’

‘Please’, he said excitedly

“Come through we’ll get some wine”

She took the glass from his hand

And gulped; it was divine!

He’d gone to so much effort

The details were so sweet

Goblets for the vintage

Silver platter for the meat

They chatted for a while

Talked of all the things she’d done

He put her on a pedestal

Like some trophy he had won

This man he was attentive

Maybe a little over keen

But Betsy was quite taken

All she’d ever known was mean

He sidled up towards her

Caught a smell of her long hair

Lavender; a hint of rose

Oblivious of his glare

Soon she started feeling

A little woozy; somewhat strange

The drink had gone right to her head

Her body and mind estranged

He saw her eyes start rolling

And his face lit up with glee

‘My sweet how are you feeling?’

‘I’m so honoured you chose me!’

His fingers they did quiver

Down the buttons of her shirt

The menu looked quite tasty

The starter oh so pert!

All feeling it was leaving her

She battled to get free

But her legs refused to walk

And her eyes; she couldn’t see

Her body inside a prison

The key was gone for good

No human should ever feel

The torment; pain that she now would

Putting down a sheet

so as not to make a mess

This man he was meticulous

On detail he’d obsess

The body of poor Betsy

Lay upon the cold wet cloth

No movement to be made

Strewn out like some large sloth

He came from out the kitchen

Adorned with all his tools

A frenzied sweat upon his brow

How could they be such fools?

Poor Betsy was still with us

Her heart still had a beat

The knife it took its first small slice

Taking care to make it neat

The sweetest slither of ecstasy

Stuck right between his teeth

The trickle of blood ran down his chin

In a circular blood stained wreath

And so his carving continued

There was flesh aplenty too

Her thighs; her belly and pert young breasts

What’s a hungry man to do!

Oh how poor Betsy suffered

Took hours to finally pass

He drained her of her blood

And raised a toast from his large glass

Swallowing her juices

He filled his platter real high

The meat it was so succulent

And the taste it was “to die!!

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