When I Am an Old Woman

When I am an old woman, no one will suspect that I am a vampire 

With a red tongue the color of a fresh victim’s heart. 

And I shall spend my days in apparent catatonic slumber 

like the rest of my fossilized companions

And say repeatedly the name of a long-dead acquaintance who wronged me so many centuries ago. 

I shall traverse rooftops by night 

And enter any club or bar I please while trawling for victims

And I appear differently from all angles 

And through the booming bass my voice pierces straight into the secret yearning of whomever I’ve set my sights on. 

 

I shall slip as a fog out of locked prison cells 

And taunt the police with lipstick letters upon each discovery of an angel-white corpse. 

Youth to feed mine. 

 

You can command vermin to mob the malls 

Towers of rats toppling the food courts, skittering under the skirts in department stores 

And all the dogs either fear or obey 

Tiny puppies in purses gnaw at the necks of their owners and form indomitable gangs that answer to no human agency. 

 

But now we must be careful in the carcinogenic sun. And subdue our appetites in public and set a good example for law-enforcement. 

We must have prayer groups and read the papers as if time matters. 

But maybe now I ought to taste a little blood among friends. 

So that people who know me will recognize my youthful demeanor at their funerals, when I am an old woman and a vampire.