Your Old Man (I)

An idea percolated into my mind as I drove home from graduate school. Why don’t I go off this mountain road, headlong into the chasm? I imagined I did, since my car was no more than scrap metal when they found it. But I don’t think I was driving. Jesus, was that you in the driver seat? Jesus, did you want me dead? It can’t be you. Jesus loves me. The Old Man is the cadaver junkie; you’re the mellow Dude. Did the Old Man drive? Did he run me off into an abyss? Can the old blind-as-a-bat Motherfucker still drive? Forget the Old Man, Jesus, you better believe in me.