I met the devil at a dinner party

Drinking prosecco by the fireplace 

Squeezed my shoulder in greeting 

Dared me to slap the glimmer from his eyes

Or wrestle him there on the Persian rug

Grinned and ate a partridge canapé 

Brushed crumbs from his vest

Told me I had a tiny heart the height and width of a corn kernel

And one day I’d die in the street 

That I should wish upon a star to be found dead 

By a paramedic and not a pack of hungry dogs

Dinner was steak and asparagus and 

Afterwards an elaborate platter of pungent cheeses

Including one aged in a Burgundy cave

Someone whispered the word “crocodilian” and we all laughed

Of course the devil laughed the loudest while

Leaning across the table and pointing at me

…

Tristan Foster is a writer from Sydney, Australia. His debut short story collection Letter to the Author of the Letter to the Father was published from Transmission Press.