mercifulserpent

Notes From a Zombie Apocalypse
Every morning I wake up about thirty feet high, icicles
melting off their mouths when they see me.
They move so slow up here, it isn’t even dangerous
when there’s only one. But sometimes, a few dozen will catch
the smell during the night, and I wake up to the sound
of their fingernails popping off as they scratch
at the base of my tree. It takes hours to burn the bodies
and it’s backbreaking labor for one man. The last survivor I met
was two days infected and didn’t tell me he’d been bit.
I saw the marks when he was collecting water
and put a bullet in his head. A couple of hours later
the son of a bitch started walking around anyway.
I know I should’ve burned the body, but god, but Megan, I felt so alone.



. . .



You wouldn’t believe it I ran
into someone I knew before
all the dead people started waking
up and walking around she was a friend
of a friend in the city and half her cheek
was missing I could see right in
to the jaw bone as it ground against itself
like a pestle and bowl she was very attractive
when I met her originally and I remember
thinking this woman will never want me
the way that I want her and I thought then
that I could eat her alive if she would just let me.



. . .



Two and a half miles north of town, I found
a clearing in the woods. There was a picnic
table and blackberry bush. I picked the ripe
berries and skinned them with my teeth.

Only in upstate New York could you enjoy
a sunny day like this during winter. I remember
you once told me you were claustrophobic.
We were sitting outside on cement,

not a person or building in sight, and you asked
if I could feel any more alone. Well, Megan,
I feel more alone. The walking dead gather
beneath my tree while I sleep, and sometimes

I use my knife to cut the tips of my fingers
to bring them a little closer.

- by Brian Trimboli