The Edwardian Vampires Club

Sunlight, velvet hats, garden parties.
Vivaldi on the phonograph. Manners.
Servants ghosted our steps, worked
sixteen hour days, while we sucked
pleasure from life. Different rules
for each class seemed natural. But
modern perspectives on the past are
rarely kind. After we died, rose, we
were forced into invisibility, like 
lower servants above stairs, to avoid 
the shame of explaining our presence 
to you. We, who kissed the nineteenth 
century goodbye, tonight, for the last 
time, are coming out in our top hats,
winged collars, white bow ties. Long
gloves, pearl chokers, ostrich feathers.
Our horse-drawn carriages and antique
Daimlers. With walking canes, cigars,
lace fans. Don't look us in the eye.