How Many Devils Can Dance on the Point . . . 1 Why, this is hell, And we are in it. It began with mysterious punishments And the punishments led to the crimes Which are currently being punished. The more rational you are (What you have paid for You will expect to obtain Without further payment) The less your chances of remission. Only the insane and saintly Who kiss the rod so hard they break it Escape to a palliated hell. For the rest, why, this is it, And we are in it. 2 Then what of those Whose punishment was such they Never lived to carry out their crimes? Children, say, More than whose fingers were held For more than a second in more than The flame of a candle; Though not exclusively children. (No need to draw a picture for you: The chamber, the instruments, the torture; Forget the unimaginable, the Imaginable suffices for present purposes.) If the other was hell Then what is this?-- There are gradations of Hades Like the Civil Service Whereby the first is paradise Compared with the last; And heaven is where we are When we think of where we might have been. (Except that when we think, We are in hell.) 3 Can this be heaven Where a thoughtful landlord Locates the windows of his many mansions To afford you such a view? (The chamber, the instruments, the torture.) Can it be The gratifying knowledge of having pleased Someone who derives such pleasure From being thus gratified? 4 Moves, then, In a mysterious way . . . Except that Lucid, strict, and certain, Shining, wet, and hard, No mystery at all-- Why, this is hell. -- D. J. Enright