Sunday, July 25

I sundered the wrist and let the blood loose;
No amount of despair or drink could be an excuse.
As I watched my life's blood shoot out of my arm,
A friendly Samaritan stopped by with a look of alarm.
He tore a piece of his shirt for me to soak the blood,
And said "I can't help you, I'm just a crackhead from the neighborhood."
I said, "don't worry, you've helped enough, crackhead or not,"
And exclaimed "where's that damned ambulance?"
We looked on in disbelief as my ambulance passed me by,
Sirens blaring, bound for a similarly named place, apparently.
As I bled near to death and waited on,
The ambulance turned around and at last reached my location.
My shirt, shoes and trousers were soaked quite red,
The paramedic, lifting me onto a stretcher, paused and said: "You're the guy from Friday, you stepped it up a notch, huh?"
I irkedly affirmed by nod of head, and my helpful crackhead I bade 'adieu.'

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