"Bed and Breakfast"

I've been in a zombie frame of mind, so to speak, ever since reading The Reapers Are the Angels and interviewing Alden Bell.  So I thought I'd post a poem of mine called "Bed and Breakfast," which appeared in a great little volume published last year by Coscom Entertainment, Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head.  It was a treat to have my piece included in the anthology; the only problem was that layout issues necessitated that my favorite part of the poem (the line numbers) be excised.  So here's the text restored to its original state.

Nothing like breakfast in bed on a Sunday morning, right?  If you haven't eaten yet, here's a little something to whet (okay, maybe spoil) your appetite.


Bed and Breakfast

Reuben lies filling the bed and craving his namesake sandwich
(Just where the hell is his sister with today's groceries?)
When the local news cuts into General Hospital to document Armageddon:
A decadent horde roams the streets, making a gory smorgasbord of the living.
Reuben watches it all with his jaws gaping and his jowls sagging,
Wondering if his spinster sister has become today's groceries.
Then either the televised horror or his lardy arteries stops his heart,
Transmuting his gross bundle of life into so much dead weight.                                               [8]

 When a semblance of sentience returns, he feels an unprecedented hunger
Panging through his soulless carcass.  His fresh appetites are as
Outsized as he is; if he could only get up and trundle outside
Cannibalistic bliss awaits.  He grunts and rocks yet remains
Turtled on his back, frustratingly resurrected, undead but bedridden.
He puddles drool on the coverlet, sees but one way out of this plush bear-trap.
So showing more willpower than his static forerunner ever did, zombie
Reuben presses a hammy arm to his maw and finally commits to reducing.        [and 8]