The Vultures

Out in the middle of nowhere,
Lost in a sea of sagebrush
And dry, prickly cacti,
The harsh, ominous sun producing
Its radiant, mind-numbing heat.
Low on energy and water,
The lone survivor of a double-engine plane crash,
In excruciating pain and discomfort,
Walks in the direction of the setting sun,
Hoping to find help
From some sort of civilization.
The beastly scavengers, the vultures,
Flying high above in ever-increasing numbers,
Sensing that the gentleman's misfortune
Will lead to another long-awaited meal.
The man, limping toward hope and salvation,
Feeling intense anxiety and frustration
From the presence of the wild, hungry birds.
He begs to Dear God for sweet mercy,
That he may happen upon a road or highway
Where he can be seen.
But whether it be unlucky chance,
Or ill-preparation,
Or revenge,
One person's misfortune is another vulture's
Lucky gain...