(from a prompt by Paulie Lipman)
I’ve always been ambitious. Call it a hunger
‘cause I have made meals of my adversaries
and anyone else who ever stood in my way.
I was born a talker. I’ve always been good
with my mouth. I am ravenous for success,
I am smart and well-liked and I deserve to win
at any game I choose. Look at how I dress –
none of that “just dug my ass out of the grave”
nonsense. I dress to kill and I’m a death threat
when I wear an Armani suit. You can’t afford
these shoes, and my trench-coat costs more
than your average air-breather has ever seen
in their lives. You can recognize me because
I drive a sick car, I’m the zombie puts the “alpha”
in Alpha Romero. That’s an inside joke. Keep up
with me if you can, because I am going places
the living dead have never even dared to dream
of shambling towards. Those shining bright lights
in my rear-view mirror is another world-class city
in flames. I have my eyes dead-fixed on the goal:
the next city. I have invested in razor-sharp teeth,
a smooth and natural walk, and the clear night vision
to see myself right where I want to be in five years:
my own boss, eating brains because I want to, not
because I have to. The whole world is my oyster. Yum.
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