Free Will

From the elegant concrete
of this bridge they built
to usher the trucks away
from their pretty town,
the river is a mere bead,
an errant raindrop moving across
the blank panel of the Earth,
answering only to gravity.

These cars, their contents,
cross from one side to the other,
never knowing, never seeing.
And you’d thought that by now
you might’ve been able to control
something more than just this,
the place and time of your own
re-entry into the bigger picture.

Robert Ford lives on the east coast of Scotland, and writes poetry, short stories and non-fiction. His poetry has appeared in print and online publications in the UK, recently featuring in Scrittura, Clear Poetry, and Alliterati


One thought on “Free Will

  1. Pingback: Free Will | Wezzlehead

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