POEM: Old Soulless Zombie

He was an old, soulless Zombie
I met in a diner out on Route 5.

He said he’d kill us all,
but I thought he was joshing.

Then when his music was over–
an ELO tune from the jukebox—
he lunged at the waitress and
bit her clean through the carotid.

It spurt like a shock therapy patient
had a ketchup squeeze bottle in hand.

The diner’s diners commented,

“Surely, that old, soulless Zombie
isn’t gnawing on that poor girl?”

“Poor child probably don’t make minimum wage—
even with tips—
and now an old, soulless Zombie has his chompers in her.”

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