For the girl on the bus

Singing along to Taylor Swift

At the top of her stupid voice

Fot the fat guy with the bad hair

Who doesn’t understand the concept

Of standing in a queue

For the cyclist that couldn’t tell

Left from right and was in my lane

And in my way

I wish I’d been a wild west hero

With a Colt .45

Buying herself beer with shipwreck change

Fingers tinged green from the verdigris

She says she only has legs once a month

When she comes to the bar and hustles the guys at pool

She asks me if I'd follow her back to the ocean

And drown for her

Panic. That was his first emotion on waking. His clothes were drenched in crimson gore, and he seemed to have broken fingernails as if there had been some sort of struggle. His mind, fogged and addled with tiredness, tried to make sense of it all until, with a moment of great clarity, he remembered he was a vampire and went back to sleep.

They lay strewn

Like fallen warriors in battle

Yellow petals torn and tossed

Casualties

But from a spurned lover?

Hurled at a retreating back?

Or bought and nerve failed

Shredded and discarded

Whatever, I gave them a dignified burial

They were leaving her

The men in their metal

To go and visit her sister moon

Nobody asked her how she felt

All eyes were on the conquesting heroes

'The eyes of the world' they said

But what of the heart of the world?

She was reluctant

But like a mother sending her kids to school

She knew she had to let them go

'Be back soon' she implored

She keeps journals of thunder

Notebooks filled with scrawls

Thoughts of lightning in fountain pen

And individual names given to raindrops

That race each other down her window

She knows she should be asleep

But she polishes her glasses on her nightdress

And returns to her fascinated vigil