The Hunter Of Zombies

Each live zombie counts as five points she says,
making sure everyone understands

she’s way ahead.
So what else is new

complains her primo hermano Cheto.
Her machete glistens red

against the predicted sunset.
The barrio’s hind legs

give off their dues and then some.
Brown families

hurry along the river bottom.
Dead abuelas sweep the banks

with homemade brooms.
Go back to your tombs she yells.

The barrio’s black eye
winks with sarcasm from the broken dam.

Our heroine waits in the shadows
for nightfall to rise with the fog.