A Dirty Job

Stoking the blast furnace in Hell.
It's hard to tell
through the heat shimmer
and maybe it's just me,
but I'm pretty sure that this
gigantic iron monstrosity
is shaped like a human head.
And the eyes,
Christ, the eyes,
such a malevolent flicker.
Wisps of thick black smoke
curling out of the chimney nose.

The countless bodies of lifeless children
from a never ending pile.
fed as fuel, into the gaping maw.
There's no horror you can't get numb to,
but just so you know -
I couldn't do it at first.
Didn't refuse so much as just knelt there, crying,
their sunken empty eyes watching me.

Eventually, I was made to understand
that there were...
worse things.

I was shaking and sick, working slowly those first few hours,
when he appeared.
It wasn't a smug smile that held his cheroot,
in fact, it was almost grandfatherly.
"You either violate your sense of self,
or pay too high a price for never compromising.
It's the just being alive
that steals away your innocence."
he said this with what seemed to be an honest sadness
and then looked off into the distance.

After a full minute
he looked back at me
eyes staring hard
at where the rope had bit into my neck
"You actually thought you were doing the right thing didn't you?"

Since there were no more tears to cry
I just kept working.
"I watched Him die you know."
his voice was ancient and very, very, tired.
"You humans, the lot of you;
you're all fucking insane."
And he paused a moment before adding:
"Made in His image."
with a sandpaper laugh
that held no humor or malice or hope.
"They will hate you for thousands of years,
and for what?
Being a Plot Device?"

And I remembered His eyes
that night in the garden
and the way He said "I'm so sorry."
in a voice too quiet
for the Gospel writers to hear,
just after I had kissed His cheek.

"I don't know why I came."
Satan said sadly,
flicking the end of his cheroot into the furnace mouth.
"I suppose I wanted to see
what a God-Damned patsy looks like
without looking in a mirror."

"It helps if you just think of it as a job."
he said, and then he left me there,
leaning on my pitchfork
listening to hissing flames
that sounded like laughter.