POETRY

Our Vampire Lord

The vampire living on top of the hill
Has ruled our town with terror centuries.
He tells us that he keeps us safe and will
As long as he exists — and we must please
Him, feed his thirst or, we’ve learned, he will spill
More blood than we have given him. The breeze
From off his hill, his home brings down the lure
Of blood and death — his poison is our cure.

No one dares speak or think that he must go —
Most cannot dare imagine such a life
Without our lord, who seems to always know
What each most needs — with him, there is no strife
Between the citizens — no vicious blow
Has come between a single pair. A wife
Each month is what we give our vampire lord
So all can plow and none will need a sword.

Before he came, the stories say, the town
Was poor, at war with others and within.
The smell of death and blood came not just down
The vampire’s hill, but out of every inn
And from the alleyways and bars. A gown
Of incivility is what we’ll win,
The townsmen say, if we give up the one
Who saved us from the awful things we’d done.