Cathleen Calbert

In a hidden closet, an itty-bitty fairground is overrun with zombie mice. Overcome, perhaps, is a better word since undead rodents move far more slowly than their living kin. With x’s for eyes and unbelievably small nails curling upwards, the zombie mice stagger through the tiny arcade. They climb into the buckets of the Ferris wheel and even hazard the tilt-a-whirl as well as the roller coaster, though several drop like duds from that quick, jerky ride. All in all, they have a good time. True, there’s no human flesh to devour or cats to surprise, but they have their whole undead lives ahead of them, and their need for entertainment has greatly grown since their hearts clattered in their chests at the first sniff of cheese. Now they are helpless thrill-seekers, and find the truism true: kicks keep gettin’ harder to find.

first published in The Prose Poem Project