Vanity Row

Lovely was the thought of crew, to learn of it, to give my all.
Everybody might not know--it’s long boats, oars and rhythmic, “stroke.”
Ah, the lure of skimming water, be it river, lake or sea!
Right away I learned of teamwork, and the unison of oar.
Not only that, the need of camaraderie was plain.
It was essential to pay attention to several tempi.
Nearly every pull on the oars was a painful expedition.
Grin and bear it I did--the experience was rewarding.

Tension tramped as each oar slap propelled droplets of water aft.
Only the coxswain escaped, though he wasn’t incognito.
Cautious to remain straight, I concentrated, en masse manic.
Rush is narrow in a long boat, accrued upon the water.
Energy in crew, all right, and duly taxed was the physique.
“Work the water!” may as well been said when “stroke” was called--the row.

Flummery describes the gray-haired man in crew, or an oar oaf.
Observed among all the lean twenty-year old's with six-packs so
ripped, his by comparison expanded like haughty banter.
(For the record, though, not too bad for a later year’s midriff.)
Unctuous I remain from crew, as if from on some high plateau
next to unassuming gods I loosen up my belt and grin.

20 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
June 8, 2014