The Clinic

Tagged in: Zombie Poems

Wheels whirring across pavement,
wondering whimsically where the day went,
they sky wryly being painted
with dark clouds and a rain scent.
Wilted weeds along the road awaiting payment.

running a little late for this tawdry dinner party—
the shameless prevaricating is probably already starting.

but the storm, it comes quick and steady,
the rain on the windshield suddenly thick and heavy,
my eyesight occluded by the wet confetti.

hmm. a terror the sky does foment.
best to pull over for just a moment.

then a rumble like that of a locomotive permeates my soul,
and i search a sky of slate and coal for the train it holds,
afraid i’ll soon be paying its fateful toll.

In an effort to escape the blowing scorn,
i foolishly bolt from the car and into the storm.
in bolts of lightening i see human forms.

Ah- a building offers safety—
evasively,
i slide in hastily.

the moment the door shuts behind me
the place goes dark, but for the lightening
in the flashes, i see there are others like me,
sheltered from the storm, safely hiding.
I hear the sound of a generator grinding
and a dull new light finally finds me.

I’m in some kind of medical facility
But the others, i see, are not like me.

they’re stiff, they hobble around together like awkward cronies
wandering clumsily and softly moaning
faces blank
eyeballs barely showing.

bodies lay around them, quiescent and vacant
-I refuse to believe the implications,
but it seems like some kind of mass zombification.

I reach back for the very same door
which already saved me once before
eager to face any tornadic gore
over what this creepy place could have in store.

but of course it doesn’t open—
security pad blinking. broken.

The whole place is…dead.
some of the ambitious cadavers wobble towards me
i break the glass on the fire axe, and grab my sword to be.

This is it, i take a breath
and rout the metal through sluggish flesh.
one swing encourages the next
as i obviate their need for necks.

flying heads and limbs,
i hope that they are dead again.

I slaughter the ghouls til they cover the ground,
til my arms burn, but they still abound.

how can i get out of here.
fighting panic and fear
i form a plan to move to the rear.

I pass
an internal window of thick glass.
behind it, some kind of technical room
with people in it! technicians screaming in their sound proof tomb,
they plead with me,
about the impending doom I assume.

But they’re locked in and I’m locked out
and it’s too dark to read their mouthes.

with gyrating corpses encroaching
the time to abort is quickly approaching.
wielding the axe, i send the monsters reeling back in flesh-peeling attacks.
One after another, they fall in strangely appealing gooey stacks.

Finally, I see my chance.
I try to climb through the ceiling, but I can’t—
i must first chop a zombie that tugs at my pants.

I made it, another level entirely,
and not one zombie that I can see!

it was either me or them
and i’m leaving those heathens—
I see a window and a chance for freedom.

I crawl out from within it.
a perturbing minute i must admit,
as i climb down the sign reading “sleep walking clinic.”

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