of community standards and the new objectivity

It's been determined that my community

will be offended by my remarks.

there’s a photograph attached to the text which

is also found to be something to object to.

I’ve canceled my invitation to mister objectionist

for a midnight supper at my place.

this, after a thoughtful room cleaning, and a thorough

accounting of matching dinnerware. everything was in order.

history tells us there’s a man, lynched within the bowels

of the deep southern reaches of the middle latitudes of the continent.

the gathering there look to be content that justice

had been dealt to satisfy the standards of its community.

something about the hanging man intrigues:–– the neck

stretched like so much saltwater taffy. the tattered overalls

smeared with traumatic evacuations attest to his station in life, but

from edge to edge the stillness of the photograph made dreadful sense.

it had to be so still to make such sense of its stark otherworldliness.

the table is set. the lighting remains dim. the chamber players

are trudging up the stairs with the heavy loads of their instruments, but

there'll be no supper for you tonight, mister objectionist.