Untitled zombie poem.

Silence outside.
Too much silence.
Silence meant it was only a
matter of time.

Better get it over with
he told himself.

He flings open the door.
Sunlight pours in,
like lemonade into a crystal glass.

So does the zombie.

He's waited for this moment
and now there's no more time for waiting.

Quick as a cobra,
he lunges,
sword in hand.

It takes only a second,
and the zombie
is a jumbled heap on the floor--
a broken pile of something
that used to be.

Now gone.