In the ‘Burbs

The coffin fits
just right for once.
Into another dirt nap
we slide, sidle, or blaze.
Fangs out, unleavened
expectations at the ready.
My what sturdy necks!
Bland air leaks
through the alcove where
we polish puncture wounds,
so elegant in our vampire cloaks.
Viscous clocks mark the minutes
with dastardly precision.
Crooked smiles drool derision
on our somber floors
before collapsing in a ruin
of brittle teeth.
We garland ourselves
with elegies for ghastly revels
beneath a clipped fingernail moon.
That’s just how we do it
out here in the ‘burbs.

-r. miller

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