Zombies Don’t Hop
A Living Dead Easter Poem
By Rusty Fischer, author of Zombies Don’t Cry
Copyright © 2011 by Rusty Fischer
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Cover credit: Jaimie Duplass
Zombies Don’t Hop
I’d never been fond
Of that old Easter bunny;
Who seemed rather goofy
And all kinds of funny.
And coloring Easter eggs
On the big day;
Was never for me
If I’d had my way.
The chocolate was fine
Though it made me break out;
“I wish Easter was over,”
I wanted to shout.
But this year was different
I found it quite fun;
Though everyone else
Had started to run.
You see there were zombies
Re-alive in our town;
And while others were frightened
I didn’t feel down.
They were totally harmless
These living dead ghouls;
As the town ran around
Acting like fools.
They came from the graveyard
They came from the church;
They shuffled and muffled
As I watched them all lurch.
I stood at a distance
As they stumbled around;
Getting used to their bone legs
As they strode above ground.
As everyone screamed
I watched them approach;
I had quite the subject
I wanted to broach.
“Can
you guys remember?”
I asked the undead.
“What to do when it’s Easter
And
the eggs are all red?”
The zombies did scratch
Their wormy dead hair;
Until one young zombie
Stuck his hand in the air.
“I think that you hunt them,
These eggs you speak of,”
He said with a croaking
As I fell… in love.
He was totally dreamy
This undead hot guy;
Even though he was oozing
And had but one eye.
He started to follow
As I found my first egg;
And he limped up behind me
Favoring one leg.
His undead friends followed
As we scoured the ground;
The zombies did cluster
As the dead gathered round.
They seemed rather fond
Of this Easter tradition;
Despite their unpleasant
Dead body condition.
And the best thing about
Having zombies for Easter;
Was when the eggs all ran out
They couldn’t care leaster!
There were plenty of other things
To hunt on this day;
As body parts aplenty
Lay dead in the hay.
You see while they rotted
And started to smell;
Off their big gray-green bodies
Parts just naturally… fell.
A nose to the left of me
An eyeball over here;
As into my basket
I placed someone’s… ear!
I found my first finger
Once the eggs were all gone;
As my hot zombie buddy
Stumbled along.
“That’s mine!” he said proudly
As I tried to make sure;
He held up his digits
I saw only four!!
“I’ll
give it right back,”
I promised him winking;
When a bargain I had in mind
When a trade I was thinking.
“But there is a catch,”
I said with a grin.
“To get this thumb back
My heart you must win!”
He warmed to the challenge
My chilly heartthrob;
As he puckered his lips
And a kiss tried to rob.
I must say I let him
As our lips finally met;
And it was quite dry
The opposite of wet.
His breath rather musty
His lips rather cold;
I’d never let a mortal boy
Be this kind of bold.
His name it was Chester
My zombie boyfriend;
The only guy who made me wish
Easter would never end!
He wanted to hunt more eggs
But I told him not to ask it;
For fear that all his body parts
Would wind up in… my basket!
About the Author:
Rusty Fischer
Rusty Fischer is a professional freelance writer who lives in sunny Florida with his beautiful wife, Martha. They enjoy riding bikes, long, leisurely walks on the beach, romantic dinners and zombie movies; lots and lots of zombie movies! (Well, Rusty does, anyway!)
Rusty’s new book, Zombies Don’t Cry, will be available from Medallion Press in May of 2011. In the meantime, check out www.medallionpress.com/blurbs/zombie_cry.html for updates and blurbs as the publication date nears.