Poetic Rowing

Righteous ones—earned by fury, by the oars bent like rebar against the water’s anvil.

Shameful ones—born of slop, of catches timid as liars, finishes lazy as sin.

The blood makes no distinction— it pools in sinners’ palms and saints’ alike.

So, tape your hands tonight. Tomorrow demands new skin to flay.

—anonymous rower One of us