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
Copyright © Paul Warren | Year Posted 2017
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