Freedom is a Hold Up
Behind a kind of convenience store’s
counter, the brain, like a register,
is filled with free will. It’s locked,
and I am just an employee
helping customers as they come and go,
make purchases, get change,
which does give brief access to the cashbox,
but there are security cameras
and I do not want to lose
this job because I’m convinced that
what is provided by this identity
is all that I have to live on.
But when masked moments, armed with
the illusion of compulsion,
bark their demands at me,
I discover that I am able to act.