A Cold Day In Hell Poem by Lycia Harding

I sit at my bench again,
this whole scene is getting old.
Same old sinners skulking in,
same defense a trillion-fold.

Now the room fills up with steam.
Next, flames shoot up through the grate.
I'm so bored I want to scream!
Here's the part I really hate...

Blah, blah, blah, 'I beg you, sir, '
'Tell Him there's been a mistake...'
Ugh! Stop drooling on my fur!
YOU'LL be burning at the stake.

I've been doing this so long,
I forgot when it began.
Sentencing the endless throng
of the very worst of man.

NEXT...! Let's go - don't hold the line,
I've got legions more to see.
Quicksand. Sharks. Irate canine...
Punishment is up to me.

Used to be I really dug
civic aspects of this job,
now I just want to unplug
from this whole unholy mob.

What if men just acted right?
What if more went UP, than down?
Maybe I'd take off a night...
or perhaps go out of town...

Wait - did I just have that thought?
Oh my badness, I'm not well...
Feel my head - am I still hot? !
...Guess there ARE cold days in hell!