It was like a whip, the animated snapping
of the man lying like an overturned turtle
on the bed in the upstairs bedroom,
his henchmen and henchwomen downstairs,

gliding in the corridors, the new warmth
of the sun in the window reducing itself
to the size of a stamp on the wooden desk
in the empty office. The question is not

whether we have free will, but what choices
history offers us. The strongest force
is conformity, not passion, not even greed
for possessions because who would ever

want a diamond unless they were told to.
Here, someone must have said, you want this.