Donnie And The Zombie Ii Poem by Morgan Michaels

In a minute there was a knock at the door.

'Come in', said Donnie.

The door opened and in slipped the zombie, coat over its arm.

Same zombie, no mistake, thought Donnie. It had the same shaved head, the same sad, upside-down eyes and the same unlined face. Eyebrows it lacked, altogether. It seemed pre-occupied. Maybe it was uncomfortable.

'Why me'? thought Donnie.

'Good morning', he said, polite by nature. 'I'm Dr O'Conner. Have a seat, please'.

'Hi, replied the Zombie, agreeably. 'Thanks, I will'- and sat down with a slight groan.

'Are you in pain'? Donnie asked.

'It's nothing. When it rains, I get stiff, that's all. We're not such a pliant lot', explained the zombie.

Clearly, it wished to be perceived for what it was- a Zombie.

'Oh, well', thought Donnie, 'Zombies have problems, too.

But he was surprised. This Zombie hardly resembled the creature depicted by Hollywood. No, this zombie seemed nice. As Donnie listened, the Zombie continued.

'A bit damp this morning, eh? But, don't worry. It's supposed to clear', said Donnie, encouragingly. 'Or, so the paper says'.

'I wouldn't know', the zombie said, as if it had never read a newspaper.

The reply sounded funny. What did it mean, 'I wouldn't know'. It sounded stuck-up. Not wanting to embarrass the Zombie, he decided to let it go.

'You didn't read the forecast'? , he wondered aloud.

'No', laughed the zombie, but the laugh turned to a cough.

It covered its mouth with a handkerchief. When the coughing stopped, it said:

'If you must know, I haven't read a paper in about seventy-years'.

Donnie jumped. He didn't know what shocked him more- the zombie's indifference to the press or the fact that it looked no more than fifty.

'Weather is weather', shrugged the zombie, 'it happens, that's all. It's all the same. I'd rather think for myself. Why put stock in an editorial.

The zombie held up a finger.