I lost a foot a few miles back,
which had me down for a while.
I lurch forward with one strong leg,
drag this bony stump behind me.
I turn around,
see the print of a single boot,
more or less in a line,
and then a faint streak on the right
drawn in the mud by my tibia.
I’ve lost some parts here and there,
the cartilage on my face long gone.
A couple of fingers have dropped off,
and my teeth are nothing to speak of.
My smile is gray, yellow, brown
with jack-o-lantern gaps.
But losing a foot
affects my mobility,
and I must always be on the move.
If you don’t walk,
you don’t eat.
Simple as that.
I find an abandoned roller skate
in a suburban cul-de-sac.
Silent.
No rumbling minivan engines,
no jovial dads with smoking grills,
no cannonballs in the pool,
no joyfully shrieking children.
My mouth waters a little.
I break into one of the homes,
have a sit on a dusty sofa.
It’s a nice couch,
probably was too nice to sit on before.
I pretend to watch
the wall-sized flat-screen TV.
But I remember my mission
and search closets and cabinets,
hoping no wide-eyed survivor
would blow a hole through my chest
with a shotgun.
Finally I find the roll of duct tape
and attach that roller skate
to the end of my footless leg.
Now I’ve got wheels to help me stagger ahead,
and I feel a warm sense of well-being
for the first time in days.
I don’t mind the silence, really,
don’t mind the solitude.
I’ve never had so much time
to just think before.
Never savored food
the way I do when I tear
into pale flesh
and crush still-beating hearts
between my teeth.
I could never hear the birds
over the dull roar of traffic,
never really spent so much time outside
in the fresh air,
not like I do now.
I am free now of vanity,
free of pain.
Sometimes I do wish I could settle down
in one of these unused homes,
tend the lawn,
fill the birdfeeders,
read a few books,
but I’ve got to keep moving,
propelled by hunger.
And when there’s nothing left to consume,
I’ll find an open field,
lie down,
and stare up at the stars
until I finally close my eyes.
