John Grey

FAMILY VAMPIRE

John Grey

The children of the vampire

remember a father rarely home at night

and never seen by day.

Not once a kiss upon the cheek

from those pale lips.

And seldom about to stop the squabbling

or tell them, "Finish your supper."

And they recall a mother forever making excuses.

"It's not easy being undead," she'd say.

Their mother often sat before the mirror,

tears in her eyes.

What did she expect?

She'd only snared him

on the rebound from a bride of Dracula.

Besides, he had this taste for virgins

and she had borne three kids already.

No one will say who finally

drove the stake through his unloving heart

as he slept deep in his rosewood coffin . . .

the eldest boy, the girl, or even the youngest . . .

it could have been the mother.

He was a pain in the neck, his children agreed.

"If only . . ." she sighed.

BEWARE

John Grey

beware of strangers,

my mother warned me,

but isn't everything a stranger,

the empty chair, the dresser,

the curtains, the shades,

the shadow reaching

halfway across the floor,

certainly the photographs

and the wall stains,

the ceiling peel,

and that floorboard creak

outside the slowly opening door . . .

beware of doors,

my mother warned me . . .

Going Out in My Style

John Grey

I don my grandfather's

ragged magician's cloak,

splash white paint

all over my face,

color my lips

a deep, bloody red,

scratch a luminous

green scar down my cheek,

dye my hair yellow

and my teeth blue,

staple wolf hair to my

forehead, arms, legs,

scribble the words

"Help me, I'm being held

prisoner in here" on my

outstretched tongue.

John’s latest book is What Else Is There from Main Street Rag. He has been published recently in Agni, Worcester Review, South Carolina Review and The Pedestal.