The devil is at the gate and he’s laughing.
He laughs at my fear.
He sneers at my futile resistance.
“I won’t let you in,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replies, “I wear many faces.”
He gestures down the road to where a long snaking line of people disappears over the horizon.
“You see?” he says, “I can be anyone.”
And then I run.
And he laughs and laughs and laughs.