A morning dream, this was

I heard a car door slam at one point, saw sunlight, so it wasn’t

a scary 3:00 a.m. dream.

In the dream, my right hand was a lobster claw

and both hands had been wrangled off: hacked or yanked,

jagged stumps remained.

I moaned the zombie moan and waved my arms towards

the bastard who stole my claw.

Through narrow hallways we lumbered after a couple. She screamed, her name

was Emily.

At some point, I turned traitor

and spoke

coherently.

We were were chasing people, eating them, but I wasn’t into it.

I told this one couple, mother and son,

“Run. Seriously.”

I whispered this because I don’t know what zombies do to creatures like me,

disloyal to our species,

helping humans get away and only

faux-biting their luscious, tender skin,

so smooth and tender, and wet when it breaks like

biting into an ear of corn.

Maybe

being a zombie isn’t so bad.

Anyone seen Emily?

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 21st, 2008 at 7:39 am and is filed under Gratitude. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.