Me and Bri were great at playing zombies.
We spent a lot of time at the food trays.
Bri would slip his fingers in the rolled meats
and I’d greedily chew them off.  

I was starving.  

I’d gnaw at the meat
until I was lapping his knuckles.
Jim and the lighting guys loved it.
The little rind flopped to the floor
of the set. Later, years later even,  

this depressing sound is imprinted.
Because, as I said, at the time I was starving.
And now I am not. I have, maybe, PTSD
or something like it.  

That plaintive slap of dead meat rind
like a nightmare, I consider occasionally.
Like now.  

Then, we’d laugh like idiots.
What I consider zombie-like laughter.
Fitting. Though zombies almost never laugh
in movies which is a shame  

because automatons 
have every reason to laugh.