Bad poetry

Composed while bored at trade show:

I recollect the laser man
Playing in his sand box
Mad boy in his underground lair
Shooting photons lens to lens
Catch a moment in light and time
A fruit, a face
A mask of Egypt.

And at the same show:

The Zombies dance and sway and swing
Jagged and sporting
Bawdy jewels, carrying trinkets
Through the tent.
They stop and prod the weak eyed vendors
Asking again and again, as Zombies will,
Because they cannot grasp functions of
The trinkets, gizmos or jewels they see.
Some ride electric scooters,
Grabbing whatever loose items free.
Bored. The Zombie husbands wander
from Zombie wives. The wives,
in purple or red, wander
booth to booth.
There walks a Zombie with a Zombie dog.
No. The dog is still alive.
It does not have Zombie eyes.
A Zombie talker appears in front of me.
Does he seek air? Water?
Not fire.
He's a Zombie.
How much for the long gadget, or
does he need the shorter one?
He needs new teeth. And a breath mint.
Maybe a brain.