Someone once said to me 'Yes, but, you never get poems about cool things like zombies, do you?' Well now you do.
The Zombies of Xavier Lane
On Xavier Lane on a day in the rain
in an upside down canoe
were people afraid of the choices they made
to see the apocalypse through.
A week had gone by since the tread of a fly
on the back of a terrier's paw
and the world was fast changed, the people deranged
until they weren't people no more.
But in the canoe, the brave trio who
had determined to rescue the land,
they talked of disease and were almost at ease,
the scientist, doctor and-
"Well why are you here? It really is queer.
What do you think you can do?"
The doctor was rocked and had his gun cocked
at the man who owned the canoe.
"Are you a joiner, a builder or foreigner?"
The scientist determined to find.
"You must have a position, perhaps a physician?
Or are you just out of your mind?"
The third was becalmed, not one bit alarmed
as he took down their words with a pen.
"I am not medic nor manic but there's no need to panic.
Gentlemen, I am history's friend."
Night fell in the city and the creatures of pity
grew bold in the absence of light.
Beneath the boat bunker, the doctor got drunker
as the trio prepared for their fight.
The first ambled over, a lone ragged rover
who our scientist shot in the chest.
The second limped longer, the third stumbled stronger
and the fourth and the fifth and the rest!
The doctor was bitten, the scientist smitten
(their dreams of a cure were gone).
But many years later, we uncovered papers
which show friends of history live on.