In honor of his appearance in Batman Arkham City, I figured a poem was due about everyone’s favorite comic book zombie, Solomon Grundy.

Through the depths of the swamp it does rise.

Ready to bring anyone it fights to many a grisly demise.

A dastardly enemy and one that cannot be put down.

He is more frustrating than Joker, that dastardly clown.

Who needs Lex Luthor and his brilliant schemes

This enemy is out of your worst dreams.

His name is Solomon Grundy.

He was born on a Monday but was dead by Sunday.

At one time his name was Cyrus Gold.

But now he’s of decay and mold.

He was killed and buried within a swamp.

But now the mess of his path of destruction cannot be cleaned by a mop.

He’s fought them all from Superman to Green Lantern to Batman to Flash

Yet he can bring them all down with a brilliant crash.

He is a zombie, the undead.

It is unclear if you can bring him down, if you took off his head.

With a roar Grundy crushes his foes.

A few broken bones and scrapes is the least of their woes.

For Grundy is powerful and even defeated he will rise again.

Next time however he might be even nastier and the heroes might not win.

The battle with Grundy may be in vein.

But that is the mark of a hero to fight no matter how much it may drain.

All talk of Grundy, with their chants.

But all Solomon Grundy wanted was a pair of pants.