In your morning poetry class someone reads an abecedarian ending with the word “zombies”

and you know it must be because it’s hard
to think of words for the last line, as well as
the line before: the Y line. And even if you do
come up with words like zygote or zyzzyva or
zeitgeist, unless you’re Barbara Hamby or
her clone, it’s tricky to use them in a poetic
sentence that makes both logical and grammatical
sense. Do zombies make sense? of course they can.
It’s practically the apocalypse anyway, what
with the increasing number of deportations
(was “Rapture” code for that in the Bible?)
and the Dow plunging 666 points last Friday,
which you know is the number of the beast. So yes,
a line about inhaling the flower of understanding
could possibly be about getting high on drugs
or sex; or maybe it’s just the scent of lavender
or gardenia essential oils wafting through the yoga
room. So you say, Let’s talk about context for a minute
here— before the world in the poem or the world
in general explodes, before giving in to the urge
to add zombies at the beginning or end of every line.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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