Devil days got that fool magic brewin’ in the hot, you know what I’m talking about, those close Kansas afternoons when the thunderheads build and build, climbing up the sky like they trying to get into heaven, hoo boy, you know that ain’t gonna happen, no heaven for them and no heaven for you, sky holding its breath tight and heavy and you looking at that blue-eyed waitress down at the diner walking slow slow with the sweet tea, licks of hair slipping down, damp soft behind her ear. C’mere she says and you know it’s a mistake, you know you gonna regret it — devil already said this one’s off-limits, she made her own bargain and you ain’t in it — but damn if you can say no, damn if you can get away clean, you just want that storm to break, need to feel that thunder in your bones even if lightning gotta strike you first, you just gotta know — can I beat that devil? — before the sky boils and the rain whips, and you thinking maybe you can get a glimpse of heaven before devil sets to, before your borrowed magic starts to turn, starts to turn, blue-eyes turning away, deal turning sour, check curling in the sweat ring under your glass, thunder fading fast and you by your lonesome under the pure blue empty, nothing but a dime-store devil laughing in your rearview as you steal out of town.
