Dracula Meets a Chemo-Poet

Dracula comes through my window, hungry as usual, Fine, I
say, hungry too, hungry for the kiss, the bite, everlasting life.
He shows up in his rented suit and fine white shirt. He is
wearing his company manners. "Would you be so kind," he
says. "Yes." And I picture his wings protecting me in the dark
skies. Dracula drinks my blood and vomits six hours later. In
three weeks he loses all his hair.