The last vampire that took his work seriously
retired in nineteen forty-seven.
He said that, in the age of the atomic bomb,
everyone was already walking dead anyway
and that a little bite here or there scared no-one.
He now lives in Eastbourne next to an old folks home.
He likes to watch their pale wrinkled fingers
pour tomato ketchup on bacon and white bread sandwiches,
and think about the old days.
He lies in a steamer chair and dreams of necks.