Zombies Get Schooled

The day was drawing to a close;

Spitballs launched onto my toes.

“School is out,” the teacher sang.

Books were closed; the last bell rang.

Suddenly, there came a cry.

”Classmates, you must say, “goodbye!”

Corpses staggered to the room,

And as the monsters swayed with doom,

“Far be it from us to boast,

But every one of you is toast.”

A gasp went up from all us youth.

“Excuse me, Sir, but that’s uncouth.”

With these words I ran amuck;

Within my head was one thought stuck.

For everyone knows who the undead revere:

A great many composers who all play by ear.

So to the auditorium I lept in one bound;

The zombies that followed, on my footsteps did pound.

My teacher and classmates had now joined the ranks.

There was none left but I in that hall, dark and dank.

I peered from the stage at the spectators all round,

Who gathered for sport, and made unpleasant sound.

A champion was chosen who rose from their midst;

Foam hounded his jowls, and blood dropped from his lips.

The dueling pianos then were rolled out;

A half-dead audience roared with a shout.

Our fingers flew over the keys with much glee,

As the zombie and I played Pachelbel’s Cannon in D.

My opponent and I battled all through the night;

I, wizard of the ivories, and he - what a sight!

But the scoundrel was beaten, and victory was mine.

The zombies all fled, leaving school far behind.