The Accomplice

The Accomplice

There’s an imp in me,
a playful, mischievous, 
roguish imp.

I love the kid,
I must confess,
despite the whirlwind
he unleashes at times.

I’m a good guy, 
rather dull at times,
following the rules,
and keeping the faith.
Yet I pray to Jesus
to let me bring the imp
along, when I make it
to heaven,
if I make it
there, I guess.

After all, the imp 
carries all the damage
done by toxic
unhappy vindictive
debasing bruising
maligning ogres.

Quickly the imp
sucks up their poison,
so quickly, in fact,
that not a bit of it
sticks to me,
no, not ever.

The imp, you see,
feeds on blight,
and, magician that he is,
turns it all to doves
and bumblebees
that never sting.

From time to time
he goes into hiding,
letting me soar free,
productive and creative, 
but yet, I do confess,
I always miss
his tweaks and twitters.

He comes back
stronger, naughtier,
pulsing with energy.
Delighted, I make a place
for him beside me,
and listen as he spins
his goofy tales. 

One more thing
I have to say:
now it’s never
either him or me;
now, instead,
it’s always We.