Dirty Work


This Grey and dreary dawn

calls out to me,

like the specter

of some long dead lover.

The chill upon the air,

damp with winter snow,

seeps into my bones.


I shiver for a moment

before drawing a breath

in deeply,

taking the cold air in,

making it part of me.


The shivering stops.

Today is the day

for red work.

For tying up the frayed ends

of contracts signed

by desperate men

in their life’s blood.


Cowards, sinners and worse.

Those who would sign away

all hope for redemption,

and damn their souls

to an eternal fire,

for to have someone,


do their dirty work.


The act complete,

and now their fate is sealed.

Grim purpose flexes my hands

and draws me out.

On this cold day,

sky hidden by the clouds,

I make my way out into the world

to finish my work.


My face has been the same

for a thousand years.

My rest will come

when the work is complete.

To seek out those

who would deal infernally,

and take them


off to Hell.


They always scream,

once they learn,

that there are no more

bargains to be made,

and their mistake

was final

and forever.

Through the burning door,

I drag them off,

to wait their judgement

somewhere warm.



HG – 2020

Leave a Reply