Q: Sunday Night Vampires

Sunday Afternoon,
And they stir from their six-night slumber,
Sniffing out the fresh scent of melancholy.

Then off,
Riding on the sun's downward trail,
Straight to the throat of the nation.
Supplanting the joys of weekend revelry
With cold Monday dread.

Bloated with stolen pleasures
They scramble down the dawn's first rays
To sleep for but another week.