The Devil Beating His Wife

It's an obnoxious expression
If ever there was one,
And, if anyone, right now it's me
The devil is beating.

Clouds part and the sun reaches me,
But soon as I'm in sun,
Fat rain drops splatter over me.
When they stop, the sun hides.

It's amusing how tormenting
This alternation is.
If I were not outdoors by choice
Heavy rain would be worse,

But as I'm down here at the lake
Hoping to steal a swim
Between the rolls of low weather,
I feel it's taunting me.

While I try to get warm and dry
Between freezing quick dips,
I think of the devil's poor wife.
How in hell did they meet?

What sort of character is she?
Especially evil,
Like him, a match made in heaven,
Assortative mating?

Or is she just the opposite,
His devoted angel,
The only woman pure enough
To love the wicked one?

Part of me would like to meet her,
Imagine her at least,
Although she's no more real than him,
Shadowiest of beasts.

I'm cold, but I'm almost dry now,
And the clouds move aside
From the grey shore where I shiver.
The devil's back inside.