by BIG BAD WOLF
A poem about Dead Rising. Written as a Class assignment. Class over. Passed.
I hear the unearthly moans,
Howling in my ear they do.
I can see them,
Slowly shuffling towards me.
Oh why did that old woman open the door,
And let them all come in?
I’ve seen what they do to you,
They bite and chew and rip you to pieces.
They won’t just die,
Like living men,
With a shot through the heart,
Or a knife between the ribs.
No, it must be to the brain.
You must shoot them in the head,
Or decapitate them,
Or even just bash them in.
Luckily, we’re in a rather large mall,
And there are weapons everywhere.
Maybe I’ll use this Louisville Slugger,
And knock them out of the park.
Maybe I’ll use this fireman’s ax,
And chop them like cordwood.
Or maybe I’ll use this hunting rifle,
And bag my limit of undead.
In any case,
There’s nothing like killing time at the mall,
Especially when the dead are rising,
And you’ve got three days to kill.