A great poem from Marianne Burgess
I think my husband is a vampire
He never goes to bed,
He stays up watching telly;
Films of horror and blood shed.
And when he thinks I’m sleeping
I hear the front door creak,
And then he goes on walkabout;
Sometimes for a week…
We don’t have any pets now –
They seem to meet a sticky end;
It’s the marks upon their neck
That the vet can’t comprehend…
In our shed there is a coffin
He says he’s trying it for size;
In case he comes a cropper –
Should I hypothesize?
I think my husband is a vampire
His cheeks are lacking colour;
And he may have lost some weight,
He used to look a little fuller.
He says he’s changed his diet
That his taste is more refined –
He now likes a glass of ‘red’
In the evenings to unwind…
He was a vegetarian –
View original post 153 more words