Turning the Wheel

Days on end he walks the circular rut
That describes the circumference
Of the mill whence he's bound both hand and foot.

Hours unending he tries to remember
How he came to be so entrapped
When his life's map was laid out to win her.

He had glimpsed her entering servitude
Sprang to free her, let her stay home,
And not to become soiled with daily drudge.

He slipped off her noose, took over her plight
Took on himself endless cycle:
Each morn tackle the wheel, fall home each night.

Too tired for her caresses on his cuts;
Unseen: worn tracks in their kitchen
Where she plods, chin down, endless daily ruts.

LMC 6 June 2010

10-8-10 / ...A;...b;..b...A