The Devil Made Three
Canton Mackan
About the Author:
Canton Mackan writes from the Gulf Coast plains in a style he calls meta-Southern: part folklore, part confession, part post-modern dissection of the South’s mythmaking. His poems navigate faith, violence, inheritance, and identity with a voice that is raw, self-aware, and steeped in the landscape that shaped it. Mackan’s work examines the region’s contradictions while honoring the emotional truths that endure within them.
Instagram: @CantonMackan
Substack: @CantonMackan
Cover by: ANANTHU SELVAM (IG) ANONYD.JPG
The Devil Made Three
The devil made three,
Lord knows he thrived
on the dysfunction between you and me.
You lived for the burn
of dilated eyes tracing your spine,
and I lived in my head,
drawn to the shadows unseen,
fueled by cheap cocaine,
cut with kerosene.
When the night bled out,
and my heart thudded in panic,
I needed you like water from a canteen.
Satan knew—when you left me,
I needed to be weaned
from your body heat—
like a goat pulled
from its mother’s life blood.
Our love hemorrhaged,
turned black as mud.
We left the piney woods,
taunting God for another flood.