The treadmill, one discovers, really doesn't
Cycle ceaselessly.  Its owners sometimes
Turn it off, and, when they do, one pitches
Forward, falling, as my neighbor has.  Poor
Man, he lost the job he'd always wanted,
For which he had trained, and which,
The treadmill indicated, would be his until
He won a plaque and chose to step aside,
Applauded by his fellow plodders.  Now,
He stares in disbelief.  His knees are scraped.
His income's gone.  He feels as if he still
Is falling, and he is, and will until
He finds another treadmill, and its
Owners let him on.