Here’s my flash challenge submission. I just finished it and there are probably typos that you will all catch and laugh at. Also, I’m not so hot on the vampire trope. Been done here in New Orleans famously. I think Joss Whedon pretty much said all I’d want to with it anyhow. That’s also why I’ve never written about singing villians, sex slaves, or space westerns.
Summer comes, the heavy season.
Saint Louis Number Two opens up
and tourists come to visit hot graves
made famous from their beauty.
A stone elk guards one spirit
taken during yellow fever. I was
there then among cotton dealers.
Alive now, they’d drink the sick
of modern poverty which grants
no dignity. Poor men in the streets
mad with needing, never having,
mourn the moment when I drink
all that lasted through the storms
and racial politics New Orleans has.
In their life, they strive to keep
one thing I take from them to live.
The last good kiss was one that gave
a second life. Darkness and blood
are my taxes, bills, and baseball games.
Like compulsive eaters, meals taunt
and mock and destroy my worth:
I taste the heartbeats I can never have.
I taste the heartbeats drain away.
So don’t mourn junkmen, rats, or
gutter punks. And please refrain
from mourning me. Centuries
I live on like oaks growing awkward
and intimidating near City Park lagoon.
I miss the sun, but always loved
the moon. Don’t even try to run.