In Storage

There by the roadside the old building stands.
Wholly indifferent to my drive by plans.
Disheveled, rusty stucco on its sides;
the sign reads “Devil’s Rope” in fading sans.

I slam the brake some fifty yards too far.
A bit too hard, the roadway smells of tar,
and hit reverse, to see what it provides.
The man outside is smoking a cigar.

He tips his hat, says “Evening” – it’s midday.
“Howdy”, I answer, offering to pay.
He takes the card and checks my bona fides.
It takes a minute, there is some delay.

And then he chuckles: “ha, I love the name.
That zip code too, marks this road pretty tame
Get what you need, from guns and scopes to guides.
Lord Beelzebub”, he muttered, in acclaim.

I walk right in, behind the velvet rope.
The shelves are loaded, pick your gun and scope,
and to the side, some cubicle divides,
with name tag labels, nicknames all, for dope.

A clerk gives me a greeting, a cliché.
Can’t blame her though, what else is left to say?
I ask “can you please find me my old rope?
I think I left it here, some previous stay”

“Dh dh devil’s rope?” she manages at last.
She’s tired but apparently learns fast,
and runs to get the manager, big strides.
Soon, he shows up, bit pale, his face aghast.

“Sir, do you claim to be the devil, sir?”
Articulate he’s not, I’ve caused a stir.
“Is my card not enough”, I ask, “besides,
did you expect some frankincense and myrrh?”

“Perhaps a touch of horns?”, he asks, polite.
And I comply, for I’m no fan of spite.
He faints, but soon he tells me it resides
In some five cornered building with no light.

He tells me: "in a building with five sides,
the rope you’re seeking comfortably hides."
So now I’m cruising back on 66
DC, you know, is on the River Styx

Author notes: fun piece to write, thanks for the prompt! so many possibilities to end it... also switching to aabb pattern, ending it with ...have their hides" for now settled on this https://allpoetry.com/contest/2784656-A-Dusty-Old-Museum