by Nick Gisburne
He’s not a zombie, just a hungry boy.
The brains? A phase, a dietary fad.
If you were starved of something you enjoy,
For human organs maybe you’d be glad.
His friends at school, the ones he never ate,
Accept him as a child with special needs.
We’re teaching him that manners at the plate
Are vital when a fiend, infected, feeds.
Admittedly, his sister was a shock,
Her taste for torture certainly extreme,
But who are we to criticise or block
Our darling daughter’s terrifying scream?
Two tiny monsters, children of the night.
They swear they’d never kill us, but they might.
