An Important Question

How can I be happy
when zombies are eating people in Newark?

I’m taking a deep breath and counting to ten,
but by that time the zombies have torn up
my cat and part of the garden.

The zombies cannot understand
my inner child, they do not ask her
to come out and play four-square
or to burn Barbie’s hair on the stove.

The zombies are just like my neighbors
and the people I see on the bus, except
for looking very, very tired and pale,
as well as red-eyed, as if they’ve been crying
or smoking or eating pigeons and
the pigeon-blood got in their eyes.