Calisthenics and you! Week 2's absurdities.

I looked through the book to find an example of how to write--ENGAGING THE ABSURD!
So, that is what I will do. I have searched through my big bag of stuff I've written in the past so I can pull something from there. I have decided to pick a piece of prose, and turn it into poetry, but also make it absurd.

I selected a story I wrote about a dude hunting zombies after a zombie apocalypse. I wrote it a few years ago, so naturally, I think it already needs work. I've always wanted to write a zombie apocalypse poem, so, this should be cool. I'll even give it the original title--my titles have never made sense.

I Don't like it When You Push that Button, Dude
by: David Mathis

A man sits at his kitchen table--lights low, walls full of static--eating a bowl of cereal.
Clock strikes 2:45, moon glares into the window, tapping an impatient foot.
Next to the eating man, a sliding glass door opens, permitting a zombie to limp in feebly.
The man tips his bowler cap to the twisted flesh husk, which sits down at the table as well.

A zombie sits in a tree until a firefighter comes to rescue it--the zombie's arm is snapped off in the process.
Clock strikes 2:40, moon stares into a graveyard full of headstones with faded epitaphs:
Zora, Born 2424, Tactile as the buttons on a coat. 
The Zombie sees a window caught in the light of a lamp. Seems inviting.

The zombie eats cocoa pebbles with a slurping noise and the man snores even when awake.
Clock strikes 2:50, moon is getting tired of staring. Goes on break. The night darkens.
The zombie and the man slowly crunch cereal between teeth--some rotting.
Moon comes back, and the zombie and the man slip into bed.

The man pulls a blanket tight over himself and the zombie.
Clock strikes 3:00. The man pulls the covers tighter.
The zombie can't move, the covers are so tight.
Zombie flattens into the bed. Day breaks.