Crammed in a space Less than six feet by two feet Like veal ready for slaughter He lies there Unable to move The walls binding him in his place Are the flesh of the men around him No room to even sit up Iron clamps bind him to his partner No bathroom in sight He's forced to relieve himself Right where he lies Contributing to the unbearable stench So foul that any man unaccustomed to it Would surely pass out No mats No sheets He lies there on the splintering wood And on a stormy night
His flesh would be shed down To the bare bone Oozing puss and blood Onto the already excrement filled floor Any thoughts of mutiny That may have crossed his brain quickly fade As he views a fellow uncooperative slave Flogged to near death with a cat of nine tails
Steel tips glistening with blood In the hot equatorial sun He falls
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