You need a metal screen across your windshield
If you want to drive at night. Zombie eyes
Don’t reflect the headlights like a deer.
You might wish you could stop and vacuum
Out the car once in a while. Some gore, dried.
Some goop globed from one chewing
On the reinforced bars around the passenger
Side door. There are no more cigarettes now
To feed an ashtray with. Bars of light across
The fog, zebra night and stutter feet out
Of the green backlit soundstage our lives
Have rotten into. Some gauge out of
A storm cellar where transformations hid
Themselves to wade out the parade of storms.
Living animals crashing through the bushes
To die beneath the wheels. Run one over.
How about two? The screen’s a springing
Shock of protection, gives an off key twang
When another zombie dives head-to.
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