[Petra Norr]

.
L’enfer c’est, almost all the time,
unlike the heat of fabled clime
where you do penance for a crime,
is worse than losing your last dime
or aging while still in your prime,
wallowing in a barnyard’s grime
or drowning in a tub of lime,
conversing with a white-faced mime
or wading though a sea of slime –
it’s more like missing the sublime
while listening to a numbing chime
for Hell’s a droning monorhyme.

.