Page O' Poems  

The First Time I Ever Really Used My Finger

Cracking the barrel open,
I ram in the cartridges
with the palm of my hand.

Snapping it closed
and hefting the shotgun
to my shoulder,
I pause

to scream.

Then the kick,
the flash,
the pain,
the parting skull.
Brains rain down,
a sticky
running
rancid
ooze.
The body falls
and the slaughter has begun.

Another comes:
time to reload.

There's never enough
time to relish
a first zombie kill.

-- Z.T. Oct 8, 1998

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