PAD Day 5: Zombies!

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides is to write a "moment" poem. NaPoWriMo has a more challenging prompt, one they have done before, and that I've done at least a couple of times before. It's 20 little prompts wrapped up into one poem:

1. Begin the poem with a metaphor.
2. Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
3. Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
4. Use one example of synesthesia (mixing the senses).
5. Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
6. Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
7. Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
8. Use a word (slang?) you’ve never seen in a poem.
9. Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
10. Use a piece of talk you’ve actually heard (preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand).
11. Create a metaphor using the following construction: “The (adjective) (concrete noun) of (abstract noun) . . .”
12. Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
13. Make the persona or character in the poem do something he or she could not do in “real life.”
14. Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
15. Write in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction.
16. Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
17. Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
18. Use a phrase from a language other than English.
19. Make a non-human object say or do something human (personification).
20. Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that “echoes” an image from earlier in the poem.

Pretty daunting, I know, but one poem I wrote in response to this was actually published. I don't know how well this one works (particularly the opening metaphor)  but here we go:

Zombie Moment

This moment is a zombie

shambling in old boots,

and I can't outrun it.

It moans, drops little pieces of itself,

and smells of dead fish. The air

tastes acrid and feels like a slimy fog. 

The moment moans again in dark red.

I want Rick Grimes back in Alexandria

to save us. But maybe I don't need him.

Maybe I can outrun it after all.

I'll play some music to get me jumping,

like the Stones - "Get Yer Ya-yas Out!".

Zombies hate live music

'cos they're dead, right?

These ear buds are my jawn,

tiny blossoms of melody,

but this season,

flowers herald  the apocalypse.

I'll wield a samurai sword like Michonne,

slice that moment's head clean off.

Brucie Baby's a bad ass.

He will flatten the curve.

He will dispatch those lovely zombies

one-two one-two and snicker-snack.

And the deus ex machina,

a friendly helicopter, will scoop me up

in its arms, as I wave to all those

groaning, fetid moments on the ground.