The Great Butterslide

One night I was arrested, beaten, imprisoned, tortured. When at last I was released (With nothing but the prison clothes on my back and a brown bag of worthless goods) I found myself on the side of the road In the middle of nowhere Looking for a phone. I stumbled through bracken and scraped My already fractured head ... I fell in a pile of who-knows-what And proceeded on my quest For a phone ... A gas station convenience store! Thank you (whoever you are)! "Please, I am hurt and need to make a call," I said, "Sure," the fellow said, "use my phone, but perhaps a hospital would be a better place. Let me call 911." "No," I cried, "just let me call my family. They will get me out of here." "Dad, is that you? I need your help, I am hurt ..." ... "What do you mean? I have no clothes, no money, nowhere to go!" ... "Do you want me to die out here?" ... "Right, then. I guess I did bring it on myself. Alcoholics are nothing but immoral grazers on the lawns of good people and we all deserve death. ... Goodbye, Dad." ... And so I left the station Walked along the road Waited for the sound of ... There it is! -- a semi: (Crouch, wait, listen ... JUMP!!!) I write this from the place whence no one returns. I write this from the mid-point of my own life The time at which I need a Virgil more than anything ... No seven storey mountain for me Just a butterslide into oblivion. Thanks, everyone