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.