Tuesday, June 28, 2016

The Vampire

The Vampire (1897). Philip Burne-Jones. Public domain.
A poem about a pitiable vampire living close to the narrator.


The Vampire

Tea will keep my hands warm
Diesel will explode for a while
Wood will sit unmoved as bricks
This morning in the soft dewy
Ground beneath my window I
Found the tracks of the vampire they’ve been seeking he’s
Lurking about my house for safe keeping
Last night a sigh woke me and
Someone stood at the foot of my bed
Dawn came and I awoke
Gone into his coffin floating somewhere beneath my floor some
Nights he waits beneath the bed
Undead scaly hands and cat eyes and nails
Hope to grasp my ankle and pull me down some
Nights he wails terribly as a sad and cheated street dog
Dying of loneliness pierced with
Pain only a pariah would know
Terrors in my dream are really happening to me
I opened the door to fetch more diesel
There stood a weathered gray man
Whom I asked in for tea
He was most amused by the flaming waste of diesel
But he was as cold as they come
Do you think this could be the one?