On My Last Date
By: John Grey

Who would have thought
that little black book
would turn out to be
great black night,
that the names of
eligible and eager women
would be erased
and the monikers of demons
scribbled in their place.
Who would have imagined
that it wouldn't be me lonely
and consorting with that well-thumbed
travel guide to romantic tete-a-tete
but something dark and chilling
dialing the number for me,
and a strange, unholy voice answering
at the click of twelve o'clock.
No Julie, no Ruth,
but a creature from the nether world.
No candle lit dinner
but a rite of human sacrifice.
No canoodling on the sofa
but a bloody dagger
hoisted high and threatening
above my naked chest.
Still, in keeping with tradition,
when morning came,
my company made me breakfast.
I hope I tasted foul.

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