Twas the Night of the Zombie Apocalypse, when nothing at all was very well,
All sorts of creatures were stirring, even by dead neighbor, Bob, right where he fell.
Random boards and furniture were hung over the doors and sash,
in hopes the Army arriving, before having to dash.

Me, nestled in my darkened den, my mind not trying to lose,
While visions of unholy horror play out on the news.
Feverishly I spy for survival tips, suggestions, and rules,
to avoid joining the ranks of the flesh-eating Ghouls.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,
in the living room, the sound of glass beginning to shatter.
Away to the window, I didn’t stop, fidget, or linger,
to find a bloody gray face, and a finger.

In the light of the pale moon, what did appear before me?
My aforementioned dead neighbor Bob, a freshly made zombie.
When, what do my wondering eyes come upon?
But him, and eight more zombies on my front lawn.

To Bob and his friends, more fresh meat surely was found,
I grabbed my trusty shotgun, and jacked in a round.
All his moaning, groaning, and pounding forced a change in my luck,
I saw the rest charging the house, closing my eyes, I said, “Oh f—.”

Now call them walking dead, wraith, zombie, or “Z”.
flesh demon, ghoul, Zed, or banshee,
the tide crashed so hard, causing my dishes to rattle,
I safetied off the gun, prayed, and prepared for the battle.

Gleefully, the first one came in the window; leg, torso, then head.
I leveled the shotgun, aimed and yelled, “Eat hot lead!”
The blast made a rainbow of brains, skin, and hair.
Showering gore all over. My home, my casa, my lair!

Bob and the rest, now in the house, and strangely mum,
just stood there, staring, while I yelled, “Come get some!”
I mowed them down, one two, thrice and four,
hoping against hope for not many more.

More I fired, “BANG, BANG, BANG, BOOM”
more bodies fell all over the room.
The room was filled with blood, gore, smoke and gunmetal heat,
when I noticed one last pair of shoe less, shuffling feet.

The last charged me, oddly wearing a name tag stating, “My name is NICK”
Smugly I shouldered, fired, and heard only a hollow “CLICK”

So remember this tales moral, if the dead do arise,
and don’t want the same nasty surprise.
If they come to rampage, kill, eat, feed, and rend,
keep an eye on how many shells as you panicly expend.

May all you warriors enjoy this tale of horror, mirth and fight,
to all of you I wish a MERRY CHIISTMAS,
a peaceful and silent night.

—–

Written by Robert Best. 12/13/11.

Dedicated to my wife, Michelle Best, a fellow lover of horror.