The Accusation

None of the questions that hunt
me down, whisper in my ear, and indict me
are new under this rusted sun.

I have met all the conventional answers,
smiled cordially and shook their hands
in the beige conference hall of a cheap hotel.

Sharp corners and harsh truths
have been papered over into safe
platitudes and self-satisfied clich├ęs.

Unable to answer my glare,
the naked brown man above
it all looks away, speechless.

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