The Zombie Junkyard

By Kathryn Maynard
March 29, 2000

Lying in bed, I try to sleep
But a sound is keeping me awake
There's a rustling out in the yard
How much more must I take

I slide out of bed, quiet and sure
And peek out the window to see
There is someone out in my yard
And he's coming straight for me

I've seen this man before, I'm sure
I open the window to speak
Something is strange about his walk
Up close he looks like a freak

His skin is pasty white, like dough
And I can see some of the bone
There's blood all over his pretty shirt
And I see he isn't alone

There's more of them walking this way
With a slow and steady pace
They all look dead, yet coming close
There's no expression on their face

I start to scream a terrified yell
And try to see through the tears
I look around and then I sigh
I'm silly to have such fears

It's a dream and I'm alright
So I turn over in my bed
But something grabs me from behind
And bites the top of my head
And now I'm one of the walking dead