Night of the Hunter

He straggles down the empty street,

past homes with broken windows, missing doors.

The newly-risen moon casts light across alleyways

Where rats feast on rank corpses,--

putrid dogs and cats, starved to death

when their owners went missing.

The hungry rats get their revenge.

 

But he cannot see through the darkness

at the overturned mailboxes reflecting the full moon

because he has no eyes, only slits

of what was once there, sparkling pupils and green irises.

Instead, he smells the stale air for freshness,

scanning the area with his nostrils.

Hungry, he scuffles out of the neighborhood

when he knows there is no food to be found.

 

On a nearby avenue, bodies shamble back and forth,

in front of an empty jailhouse.

The criminals have long escaped their cells,

leaving overturned tables and overflowed toilets,

bed sheets ripped and torn into shreds.

But now, they are part of the crowd, too.

Criminals limp among the innocent

as they each search for the kill.

Stomachs as empty as mouths,

they yearn to fill both.

 

The man passes street after street,

until he stops at a dead end.

Sniffing the air, he breathes deeply

to absorb the scent of flesh.

As his mouth waters, spit tumbles

over the sides of his rotting lips.

He approaches a modest home,

windows still in tact--

though the white picket fence has been mauled over.

Knowing he can eat tonight,

he scuffles towards the house expecting dinner,

his instinct set only on filling his stomach.

 

Up above, in a small bathroom window,

a man takes aim, pulls the trigger.

A blast breaks the silent night like shattered glass,

and the body crumbles to stillness

under the crooked light cast from broken streetlights.

But no soul escapes--it was gone days ago.

The freshly collapsed corpse is already

more rotten than one from hours ago.