I was waiting in the car the other day, and I thought to myself, “Self, you should be doing something other than sit sitting and staring out the window.”
And then I thought, “All right then, what should I do? What does the world need?”
And then it came to me. “There just isn’t enough zombie poetry out there.”
So I whipped out my notebook and began to scribble.
My head filled with thoughts of an epic poem detailing the struggle of the last survivor as he fought his way to safety only to have him fail just steps from his goal. Unfortunately, this is all I could come up with.
Lame Zombie Limerick
by Bryce Beattie
A zombie is something undead
That doesn’t eat butter or bread
It just wants to bite
Your face off, all right
Won’t stop ’till its shot in the head.