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The Zombie Firetruck by Stewart Stafford
Sirens moan, grave duty's flash of red,
A mortuary whiff of something dead,
Hoses trained with brains they suck,
Your friendly neighbourhood zombie firetruck!
All that remained of the human fire team,
From the zombie pandemic of 2017,
Still in their uniforms, their only treasures,
Apocalyptic times call for end-time measures.
When they reached the fire, people did scoff,
They lurched, staggered, body parts fell off,
As they wandered around, fire hoses forlorn,
These knightly living dead faced a blazing dawn.
The chief, hat off to his skeleton crew,
In a voice once alive, now croaky like flu:
'To the hydrant, my ghouls, let's save Gothik Town,
Or they'll call Ghostbusters, we'll be the clowns!'
A glowering inferno, a cremation scene,
Zombie firefighters, brave and light green.
Through smoke and ash, they gravely stand,
Composed decomposition with skeletal hand.
Axeman Bony Ed led their clattering charge,
Into the smoke, his cadavers did barge,
The townsfolk looked on in dead of night,
And disbelief, tiredness and mild fright.
There soon followed medic Cemetery Phil,
Decaying Murphy, Old Salty, and Dead Drill,
Slab Stevens, Madly Hyde and Molly Voodoo,
Determined to shake their initial hoodoo.
A mother and baby backed by burning drapes,
Team Macabre charged up the fire escape,
Saving both and getting everyone out,
Drank Brainer Ade as they leaked like a spout.
Somehow, undead teamwork saved the day,
No lives were lost as the water sprayed,
Doused the flames, cool flatlined heroes,
Much zombie kudos, no longer scary zeroes.
The crowd cheered, did they ever doubt it?
High fives lost hands but new ones sprouted,
Frankenstein proud in their flapping flesh,
Sure to get medals at the HalloweenFest.
With a final groan and a clatter of bones,
The zombie firetruck headed back home.
Rotten yet proud, in their reanimated way,
The risen would fight fires another day.
© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.
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