Ball and Chain
The choker is fastened tightly
Around his neck.
The chain, hanging down his back,
Is constantly jingling and jangling
As he drags the chipped and discolored
Ball through the dirt.
He leans into the wind of life
His legs pumping, driving.
The muscles in his neck
Strain against the weight,
As the ball grabs at every root and weed.
He keeps focused on the earth ahead
Seldom lifting his eyes.
He drags this discolored metal ball
Everywhere he goes
Wondering how empty pockets
Can weigh so much
And keep him down so long.
Roy W. Backes
© 2005
Roy W. Backes - Poetry 