Heartpen: Poems of a Cardiac Quill

Flee the Fanged

Vampires thrive in neon light,

while one ray from the sun will

disintegrate them to ash.

They frequent grimy boulevards

when the moon looms pale and somber.

Swarms of people escape to the country,

but many thrill seekers are

loath to leave the metropolitan neighborhoods.

I should leave tonight.

Nobody can survive in these

tombs of tarmac.

Bars sell gin mingled with blood and vodka.

Civilians pass me on the sidewalk,

their mouths clamped shut.

I don't know who is fanged and who isn't.

Don't bite me don't bite me don't bite me.

Crowds whirl and chatter,

a racket of auctioneers howling prices,

couples arguing,

babies screeching.

Homeless guitarists play their blues.

Models strut

in mismatched apparel

so they can

juxtapose

for the cameras

that dizzy me with flashes as I trot by

with my pockets full of unpeeled garlic.

Leave tonight.

Lowering myself onto a bench,

I pray the trolley soon arrives.

Crickets chirp.

An owl hoots.

Better not sit.

I stand.

A man in a trench coat strolls in the road.

I caress a clove of garlic in my palm.

Leave tonight leave tonight leave tonight.

The man hisses,

and his teeth are sharp.

Porcelain daggers.

He lunges at me.

I chuck garlic cloves

like grenades.

He dodges my

pungent

projectiles

and tackles me to the earth.

We tussle,

entangled in a ribcage

of concrete and steel

dreamers call

City.