At the corner of Riverside and Black Pine Cemetery Road across from my graveyard of origin (they tried to bury me at a crossroads but couldn’t get the permits) is my favorite Sonic which smells of hotdogs and onions and is always full of happy college students who laugh and race their cars up and down the road so that the cops cite them sometimes for driving too fast and sometimes for noise pollution when they get out of their cars and dance the Thriller dance(badly) and sometimes for indecent exposure when they make out in the graveyard where it’s quiet (usually). In the mush that I think with now I have memories of the back seat of a car and a boy who screamed so when he saw them coming and he ran (oh so fast) but I was still seeing the perfect solution to my chemistry homework (he didn’t kiss well enough to hold my attention) so I was slow following him. But soon I didn’t care because I had found bad poetry and I knew that no matter how fast my food ran I would catch up with him (sooner or later) and dine on his fine brain and mushy kisses. I know where he hangs, after all. Please rate this low! Poetry Zombies want one star for their best work! Written for "Poetry Zombies: Dawn of the Dreck!" [18+]. |