The Trouble with Zombies

When you realize that you are being

Eaten by a zombie instead

Of reading a poem,

You will feel cheated at first

Then a little icky because your shirt

Is now wet and that makes you think

Of the time you spilled soda down your

Front at the movies and, because of shame,

Were forced to sit in the sticky

Until the darkness lifted. Go on, make

Sense of the sensation of being eaten

By applying some critical theory,

I suggest Deconstruction, the stack

Of fresh paper you were going to print

Your fancy poems on slips

Onto the floor as you flail after it.

The leaves are soaking up your blood now,

The zombie is chewing on a hunk

Of your neck, and you are shocked

To realize that it is your neighbor who

You were thinking of including

In a poem about dry cleaning and shirts

And stains and the way shame

Can unravel the mind. And as you begin

To black out you remember seeing

The neighbor beat his kid in the backyard

But you didn’t do anything

Because you were reading a poem

And it made you nervous to think you might

Have to go over and say something

And instead you sat there, reading

Your poem, trying to connect the bright, hopeful light

To the scene in the yard next door.