The Vampire Postman

He only worked the night shift The other shifts he was cut adrift As soon as the sun went down You could see him prowling the town In his post office van he picked up the letters And on the colder nights for the better He wore a cloak in a flourish around When he stepped out of truck to the letters bound His cloak he held it high up to his arm And he looked above the elbow to project alarm Gliding over the ground to the letter box With one foul swoop he emptied the lot They could never give him a partner Because they never made it to the shift's end after He had no next of kin listed on his permanent file And when off duty he hung from the basement tiles. © Paul Warren Poetry