The Devil’s Birthday
It’s the Devil’s birthday, they say, here in Denmark.
That day. His day. Once a year when the Devil
has his say. Gets his due. His payment for a roof
over your head and dry bones on wet winter days.
The day when his greed beckons twelve months
of mortgage due. The Devil is a banker, and he
needs a birthday – he collects from poor and rich,
always on the sixth day of the sixth month. A demon’s
day, it is, and truly I’ll not be baking him a cake,
but pay I will. Every year. Just to celebrate.
Written for Reverie #51, A Personal Holiday