At some point, we formed gatherings,
survivors of a two block radius.
Questions abound.
Where was the army?
Why would the cold bother them at all
If necrosis doesn't stop them from walking?
I'm surprised it took so long to come out:
Who's going to go look for more food?
Organic foods was thrown out quickly.
No hopes of an asphalt victory mid winter.
On that center stretch of town we all lived on
there were enough restaurants, 24/7's.
But we'd soon have to venture into Boston
An hour and a half's walking.
Search parties were formed.
Hardward store raided
Armed with garden hoes and the shovel
I once bought to futilely try and clear
my South Boston sidewalk. Like
snowstorms then, we stayed in the middle
of the road. Undead stayed there,
a combination of habit and paralysis.
We would have walked the T tracks
if not for the waiting dead, frozen in routine.
We thought of the spectacle we made
above with our makeshift militia,
wary of cataracted eyes
like first time tourists.
Might have passed as any other city day
If we'd stayed close to the sidewalks.
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