Narcissusylvania

I sprang up from bed bathed in a clammy, salted terror
panicked racing heart, soaked sheets  
   
The nightmare was so real I had to talk to someone  
so I ventured out into the darkness to Starbucks  
   
Cuddling a venti dark roast, I looked about the coffee shoppe  
but all of the chairs were fully occupied, save one  
   
In the corner was a continental looking dude in white tie and tails  
when our eyes met he motioned me over to join him at his table  
   
"My name is ... Earl," he said with a thick South Jersey accent, flossing his pointed teeth  
I simply nodded back, not wanting to share so much so quickly  
   
For the longest while we just sat quietly and politely savoring our hot beverages  
I with my steaming java and he with his blood orchid tea  
   
"You know poetry is dead," I whispered in fear as if we'd be next  
Earl just looked at me, shrugged, then said "Can't relate. I only read short stories."  
   
I must have donned desperation on my face like purple lipstick  
because he gave me such a  you-think-that's-bad  look, then pulled out an ornate silver mirror  
   
 “A dear werewolf friend of mine regifted this to me," he said as he drooped his gaze towards the blank reflection  
then he started to weep as only a nosferatu can weep, a waterfall of ruby tears  
   
Handing him my monographed linen handkerchief, I watched as he dabbed up the blood on his cheeks  
"You know what I miss most, now that I'm a vampire?", he asked, staked out in a naked vulnerability  
   
I sheepishly shook my head no, because I was sure I should have known the answer  
"Seeing my reflection," he replied before blowing his nose and mixing crusty green with the scarlet already soiling my nose rag    
   
Then the true tragedy of his circumstances resonated like a gothic clarion  
what a double curse - to be a narcissistic vampire, condemned to live thru eternity and never see your reflection again  
   
"So, why are you so upset about this death of poetry business?" Earl asked, handing me back my now ruined hankie  
gingerly wading it up, I shot back "Poetry is quintessential literature!"  
   
Although Earl was a count, he was also a prince  
he feigned both sympathy and enlightenment as he stroked his chiseled chin  
   
“It’s thru poetry that we preserve what it means to be human, to be alive. The death of poetry is the death of civilization!”  
Earl leaned in closer, took another sip of his bloody tea  
   
"So, what-a-ya do for a living?" my new found friend queried, trying to change the subject  
with an air of prickly irritation I spouted, "I'm a poet, of course!"  
   
Not saying a word, the vampire smiled a fangy grin, stood up and nodded  
nonchalantly he handed me the mirror and paraded out the door  
   
Eerily the lights flickered off, then on  
I looked up at the crackling speakers right above me  
   
Carly Simon crooned raspy her golden oldie, You’re So Vain  
“I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee    
clouds in my coffee, and …  
you’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you  
you’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you  
Don’t you? Don’t you?”  
   
Rolling over, I opened my eyes to morning’s twilight, looked confused at the blaring clock radio playing Carly’s final refrain  
I then leapt out of bed and made a beeline for the bathroom, and its wall length mirror  
   
(Special thanks to Atakti for her help on this one)