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