A Sharp Rebuke. Poem by Miki Byrne

I left the preparations. The last minute pinning's,
smearing of ghoulish make up. Settling of wigs
and food made grotesque by strange colourings.
I walked down from East Hill House.
Gliding the quiet old street toward the Elliot Arms.
Pre-party drinks and ghost stories would tingle the spine
and ratchet the fear.
My costume was accurately vampiric. Sharp canines
gleamed in the moonlight. Droplets misted raven hair.
The cloak made a satisfying swish, swirling
in batwing splendour. October shadows lurked.
I walked In the lee of ancient cottages that stood
with their eyes closed and doors latched against the misty chill.
Nanna Lees clinked milk bottles onto the granite step.
Her back curved like a penitent. As I drew close
a scrap of cloud wiped the face of the moon clean
and she looked up. I smiled, forgetting my fangs
and corpse-pale face. As Nanna screamed and fled,
my apology was stillborn in my throat. Her old polished door
slammed a sharp rebuke in my face.