Being between editorial jobs and an operation, I’ve been cleaning out my study this week, a task that was long overdue. Amongst the glory holes and dusty-musties, I found a hard copy of the following, which I wrote for Gracie while we were courting, years before we married, before Lily, who didn’t make it, and Vincent, who’s five in July. Anyway, I am not, by nature a poet – as I’m sure you can tell – but this caught me funny, because it was and remains just so us: Lux and Ivy, Lily and Herman, off in a little world of our own, a cornucopia of love and horror. So this one’s for Gracie – I hope you don’t mind. I’m so glad I found you. I thank the old gods every day. Happy Birthday, babe, I love you…
I Walked with a Zombie – Or Did I?
She took me with a cold slow hand,
While Hell’s Angels thundered by.
Through the flowers of a nuclear summer
She led me first awry,
Down the left hand path of a one-way street
As dead boys wondered why.
It was love at first bite in the cool moonlight,
When first I caught her eye.
Now every night’s like Halloween,
And every dawn I die
In a post-apocalyptic paradise,
I walked with a zombie – or did I?
She’s got that Triple X, X Files Factor,
A body to make you die.
She’s Annabel Lee, Gothic Zombie Barbie,
A bleeding nun whose eyes
Stare from the abyss,
While her suicide kiss grants your every wish
And whispers a breathless sigh.
As society fell and Cheryl Cole died,
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry
But I knew that I had found my bride,
I walked with a zombie – or did I?
An indescribable perfume blinded my eyes
As I held her spider’s hand in mine.
I gave her my ring, and then everything
While burning doves fell from the sky.
In a satire of post-consumerism,
Our marriage bed had a halo of flies.
So I plighted my troth in that terrible place,
To be honest she looked quite surprised
When I consummated our undying love
And all the tears ran dry.
I walked with a zombie – or did I?
We honeymooned in Yarmouth,
Which looked the same to me
As it had before the Last Judgement
Revealed the meaning of love to me.
We paddled; blood rained,
We had chips with our brains
And read Edgar Allan Poe by the sea.
Then an undead shark with a chainsaw
Took my baby away from me.
Now they tell me I’m dreaming,
And I can’t stop screaming,
And no-one will tell me why
I walked with a zombie – or did I?
PS No more goth poetry, I promise!
PPS We didn’t honeymoon in Yarmouth.
Stephen Carver 