Theseus’ Whip

Much is written about his fabled ship,
But there’s no ink spilled for his trusty whip.
Credit must be shared where credit is due,
In creating a tool to turn you black and blue.

While the master’s hand dispenses the pain,
Hark, citizens, your hands bear the stain!
Who replaced all that wood when Theseus set sail?
And what stick ensured they wouldn’t flag or fail?

Whether against the air or galley slave,
Stinging lashes that whip gave.
How, you say, can people share this guilt?
In the same way, one says his ship was rebuilt.

The farmer who sowed the wheat,
And sold it for a penny so he could eat.
The rancher who bought that hay,
To fatten cows to meet their fate one day.

The butcher who raised the knife,
Shares his portion of today’s strife.
The tanner’s boy that dried the hide,
By the same logic, must abide.

The craftsman, who, put in all his years,
Cutting leather between his shears.
To cut and snip away the shape,
Of the biting infernal snake.

The market woman in her wicker chair,
Who hawked the whip with such flair.
The mother who birthed the babe,
And then left him in a basket in the shade.

The boy who grew up to trade in flesh,
And sold those to face the human thresh.

But could it do to condemn them all?
For each of their contributions is so small!
But, even if whip they did not command,
These people deserve the weight of the reprimand.

Yet, without thinking first about the way,
They created laws that land us here today.
A social contract between “all of us,”
Is the origin for all this fuss.

Nevermind that you nor I have no say,
Chained to this oar we must stay.
Keeping time as our backs strain,
And provide the foundation of Theseus’ fame.

To many, we aren’t members of society,
But yet they see no cracks in their piety.
The glory spread wide for all to see,
Yet no benefit for either you or me.

We must hope that one day soon,
The people, wise, will change their tune.
For it is they who have made the whip,
And placed us solidly here on this ship.