A Walk With A Zombie Ii Poem by Morgan Michaels

On we walked toward some half-lit spires
fencing the sky like a hedge-pig's back
that marked the town's edge, far across the heath;
the spongy turf

Gave way with each footfall- porous enough
to leave dents, but pairing mine, none.
(the zombie left none!) 'Good trick, ' I thought
wondering how it was done- -

For my own footprints quickly filled with bogwater
onto which the moon cast squiggles.
'Why keep looking at the moon? ' I asked,
a little annoyed- it all gave me the willies.

'The moon is my goddess, ' explained the zombie,
'my life is pegged to her phases.'
This I found hard to fathom.
'What is the point of your life? ' I asked, simply,

Into the air, not really caring what it answered.
'To make more zombies, ' it said, quickly.
As a scientist, I wondered 'how's that done? '
'Well, leave me out of it, ' I thought.

'Not so bad as you might think, ' it replied,
with an affectless glare, 'it's easy. Most don't care.'
'Let's talk about it later, ' I said, lightly.
marking its vacant stare,

And, not wanting to rile it, kept shut and marched on,
when, turning to say I'd buy dinner,
(and wondering what restaurant to choose)
I found the zombie gone!