Learning how to pick the pockets of the undead

the boy and girl bounced amongst the tangle of bodies
like capuchin monkeys in a canopy of leaves,
snatching fruit as they find it.

 

Light tension as fingers free
the wallet from the zombie's denim grasp;
the soft pop of muffled clasps
keeps the monkeys hopping. 

 

Theirs is an act of survival,
foraging amongst the lost souls
who've ceded control, sold
all their tomorrows for one more hit today.