My sixteen year-old niece says she’s finally finished
with them. Vampires, that is. She’s all grown up
now.  She’s tossed out that pair of white plastic teeth
she used to frighten me with, those glow-in-the-dark fangs
from the costume shop. They tasted like old ketchup.
Her prized collection of Harry Potter books
has cozied up to tales of death and vengeance,
the kind that lead you toward philosophy
not shopping malls. Even her bedroom wall
projects a morbid serenity it never had
before. I gave her a Vampire Weekend album
on vinyl, thinking she’d get it but she just said
Thanks but what am I supposed to do with this
my mom threw out your old turntable
years ago.