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๐™๐จ๐ฆ๐›๐ข๐ž ๐’๐ก๐จ๐ฉ๐ฉ๐ข๐ง๐ 

Their masks hide grimaces or crazy smiles โ€”
The zombies of the supermarket aisles;
Each pushing jerkily a shopping cart.
(They mumble as they stay 6 feet apart.)
The living dead deplete the shining shelves,
(These are restocked each night by eager elves.)
Until their carts all overflow with stuff.
(Itโ€™s said most zombies never have enough.)
Then off they go to stand upon their X,
Pay with a card โ€” not zombie cash or cheques.
The checkout chicks, the zombie bags wonโ€™t pack;
A zombie virus waits there to attack.
The zombies donโ€™t complain; they pack their bags,
Then trundle off to buy their booze and fags.
So daily do the zombies come in flocks,
And since the supermarkets have no clocks,
They wander round and cough and sneeze and fart
For hours โ€” still staying 2 metres apart.

โ€” D.N. Oโ€™Brien