Saturday, April 30, 2011

Z is for . . .

Zombie
Whose brains these are I just don't know.
Her body's in the tunnel, though;
She will not see me stooping here
To eat her brains before I go.

My staggering gait you might find queer,
To shuffle-step when you're so near
Between the exit and the dark,
The darkest tunnel under here.

My skin, it flakes, my voice—a bark,
My bite leaves just a little mark;
I'm the worst thing you'd ever meet
In this black place beneath the park.

The tunnel is gloomy and smells of peat
And I have chains upon my feet,
And brains to devour before I sleep,
And brains to devour before I sleep.


*after Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost