I waited for a friend on a dark, rainy night.
Standing on the street, everything was alright.
I leaned on my bike and looked down the street,
Nothing but darkness and piles of sleet.
Down the other street, nothing as well,
On the third one, something made me yell.
A shambling figure, dark and big,
Moving like someone who took a deep swig.
I can’t see arms, nor can I see its face,
Zombie movie memories make my heart race.
I start thinking if I should make scarce
And listen to my spine and all of my hairs,
Tell my friend that I just had to go,
Escape the threat into the town’s glow.
Then I noticed a minor detail,
The zombie candidate that doth quite flail,
Had what looked like a rope in its hand,
And it shouted out a command,
To a smaller piece of zombie by its side,
Then I caught on, understood what I’d eyed.
It wasn’t undead, it could most likely talk;
Zombies rarely take dogs for a walk.