a zombie hangover

Last night, I joined a zombie horde
searching for my food
all lurching by for brains galore
and in a buoyant mood
when, while passing past a noisy pub
I turned my head and spied
there, drunk and passed out on the road
a rather wasted guy

My zombie friends all looked but they
refused tarry near
instead they kept on lurching by
(I thought that rather queer)
but I reached down and grabbed his head
and took a giant bite
because I’d found the pickled brain
that I would eat that night

At first the drunken brain was good
it tasted wet and sweet
as though I’d found a dessert brain
a diabetic treat
but all too soon I realized
just why my friends were gone
and I wished I’d followed them
instead of chomping on

I didn’t get the quiet buzz
of drinking alcohol
I didn’t get pink elephants
or fancy sights at all
I didn’t even get the heaves
but what I got instead:
the worst hangover ever known
both living and undead

My eyes were dry, my mouth was full
of cotton balls and rot
my body ached, my stomach churned
my nose was full of snot
and every noise that came my way
echoed in my head
if I’d a pulse, it would have throbbed
nerve-endings burned instead

And all the world was yellow-green
and smelled of ancient beer
and when I lurched out on my way
the humans ran in fear
because they seemed to sense my mood
and knew—only a nutter
would catch the eye of one who’d rose
from eating from the gutter


Please rate this low! Poetry Zombies want one star for their best work!
Written for "Poetry Zombies: Dawn of the Dreck!"  [18+].