on the grammatically incorrect sign shown to us in english class

-- free would,

& all the spiraling connotations that come

in the afterthoughts of it, the explanations,

the tin bucket full of pieces with bark still on

for no one wants something they could've had. 

no one clamors

for would in such a marketed system,

its canisters opened & crumpled like old ticker-tape

spitting out knowledge useful only to those of yesterday's mornings

& afternoons, those with money

still willing in their pockets.

we carry our free will that way,

                                                a present,

in wallets like something we mean to take out & spend

but instead linger over & promise

yet again to another time. we are scarred,

burning like the firewood

awaiting its martyrdom in the hearth                  or the bin,

to turn our somedays into right nows, to take

the protest signs from where they lie rotting

in the shed, to rise without fear of some future fall

to earth. we are worried of what the after-times will think of us.

will we be remembered,

forgotten? have we been proved incorrect? do we regret,

did we ever regret, do we wait

in silence by the side of the road & never once say

all the things we wish we'd done?