The day after she killed me,
ran me over, riding
a freight train of bad news,
I was uptown. And uptown Donnie,
the homeless bootlegger, thirsty
with a blade,
threatens my already dead self
and steps toward me, while a woman
gives me her number, I wonder,
What does she wants with a zombie?
And my head is a mess, I am
walking with a fear of
never arriving, always moving
farther from home. Noticing not
the sidewalk turn to street,
brake pads scream and pupils dilate.
Headlights in my face. I remember
when we were almost road kill
on the very same street, and I wish
we had been. I would be dead
like I am dead now, but holding your
hand, which now I am not.