The Little Room
By Ralph Kinney Bennett (bio)
I had a vision of Hell the other night.
It was a small room.
No doors, no windows.
You have to sit on this little chair.
The chair is not that uncomfortable.
But the company is.
Close around this chair, elbow to elbow, are people talking, talking.
Did I mention it’s a small room?
There’s Harry Reid with his pale face and beady eyes, and Frank Leahy with that countenance that drips sanctimony in a way so peculiar to the intellectually corrupt.
There’s Ted Kennedy, wide and angry. And Alcee Hastings and John “Abscam” Murtha imparting their particular wisdom.
There are others crowded in there. You’d know their names.
They are all lecturing, pontificating. “Getting to the bottom of things.”
I did mention that it is a small room, didn’t I?
Satan never goes near this room. If he happens to think about this room he rolls his eyes.
It is a little room because these are little people.
It is the Hell within Hell.
The room reserved for those who have no shame.
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