Zombies

We scanned for brains beneath a sunset smear,
a leering, frozen zero in each eye.
If thoughts were found, we’d have them disappear 
in teeth that pull the synapse from the cry.

I noticed skin that flickered with a blood
that moves; it’s mine. It seems that I’m alive.
I run before the smell of life can flood
the blank that turned their minds to empty drive.

They follow me through vacant towns and shops;
familiar places are what truly haunt.
The memories and the chasing never stop.
It is the motion of my thought they want.

Your savagery destroys all that we knew—
and even worse, I was once one of you.

Copyright © by Kevan Copeland

A version of this poem appeared previously in Polar Borealis.