Zombie Sex

By | 1 April 2010

According to an updated version
of The Kinsey Report,
zombie sex is an anomaly,
but I have twice witnessed it myself:
Once in the parking lot behind
Joe's Bar&Grill,
two zombies dry-humped
in the neon glow of a green beer mug.
The sound was like two giant locusts
rubbing coarse thoraxes together.
I almost expected one of them to ignite.

The second time, I found a zombie
mounting the quadriplegic
who lives next door. I had gone there,
as I do each Tuesday, to read to her.
We were three-quarters through
Pride and Prejudice, and my neighbor,
also named Elizabeth, had been dreaming
of late about Mr. Darcy and life at Pemberley,
only there must have been some mistake.
This was no Mr. Darcy, but a zombie,
thrusting his slick digit between her legs.
Later, as I washed the maggots
from her catheter and skin, we
speculated on the reason
he had not killed her.
I ventured that her immobility
and poor circulation
confused the brute, who perhaps
took her for dead. Elizabeth
fancied another notion, one
involving the first stirrings of love.

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