Those pesky little zombies
Here’s a seasonal poem from Springfield, Ill. poet Lola Lucas. Her comments about the poem: “Seems like
Dead things, discolored, brittle,
Mindless yet still moving
They slap against my windows,
Shuffle, crowd near my door.
Their numbers growing,
They jostle in my yard, waiting.
I have nightmares
Of being covered in them,
The dry parts detaching,
Tangling in my hair,
Crumbling into my mouth.
The smell of decay grows stronger:
I want fire, fire, to burn them all!
Desperate, I lunge for the phone --
Dammit, God dammit,
Where is the guy
Who usually rakes these leaves??
Lucas has been published in a string of literary magazines such as the Alchemist Review, Prairie Poetry, Solana and Watermarks. Her first book of collected columns about
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