In those distracted moments in class
the girls I know think about the night when
the boy of their dreams comes knocking on the door
to whisk them away.
I think about the night when
hordes of the dead come scratching at the door
to feast on the living.
I wake up after a night
of running from grotesque zombies
as satisfied as most girls are
after dreaming of a date with the football captain.
The girls I know spend hours
calculating the formula of the perfect
outfit, hair, location
to create the perfect romance.
I calculate the formula of the perfect
weapon, force, defense
to take out as many infected as possible.