Zombie Poem (and an exceptionally bad limerick)

I write a lot of zombie poems. In fact, I’m planning to self-publish a collection of zombie poems later this year. I was just going through some of my April Poem a Day poems from last year to see if there were any I hadn’t transcribed but should when I found this one. I’m going to share it here because I like it and thought you might too πŸ™‚

I look at my meds and know
if walkers don’t kill me
lack of pharmaceuticals will

ETA: I found another one! I think I’ve mentioned before that for every publishable poem I write probably five which are not. They serve their purposes though, whether they are personal and cathartic or just straight-up silly and helping me to just get something on the page. I think you can guess which category this one falls into πŸ™‚

There once was an old man named Hugh
who owned a hound dog he called Blue
Blue’s collar was perfumed and florid
to cover his breath which was horrid
because he loved eating cat poo



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