Abuse Of The Chain Poem by Bob Bowers

Gold water slides
Beneath the even strokes
Of life pulling me along.

There is a glint
Along the shore,
Of sweat,
perhaps,
Or steel.

My oars dip and lift,
Cause barely a ripple,
As I
glide on.


My mind wanders,
Dreaming dreams.
Circumscribed, closed-in dreams.

I am alone with this machine,
Rowing a wooden bar
Anchored to a chain
Attached to a wheel
That spins with my every thrust.

I reach and pull,
Working muscles strung on white bones
Like the white walls and faces that surround me,
Breathing hard my choking breath.

Care must be taken,
I am warned,
Here inside these blank walls:
'Abuse of the chain
'Can result in injury.'

But for whom—
We who pull upon it?
Or those wrapped within?


4/3/02