On Seeing Facebook Recommend I Tag the Face of Christ


I’m scrolling

pictures on my home page,

when there He is: white,

robed, and framed, hanging

background to a casserole

scene at Aunt Dara’s.

The site wraps his face in a thin box, as it does with cousins at the table,

suggests the face be “tagged,”

logged for future reference,

catalogued as a friend, an acquaintance, et cetera

et cetera.  Flash bounces off glass, obscuring

his chin in light.  You can’t see if He’s smiling.

Scott, Wes, Liz, and Hilary (the cousins) sit

ready at the tablecloth, collared shirts and floral print

dresses.  The meal hasn’t started.  Stormy

mashed potatoes, brown gravy, brown rolls, lentil soup, wine,

macaroni, flowers, and  iPhones buzz

with promise beside bare hands.

Above this post are razors

advertised against a lathered jaw.

Below, a picture of Obama,

his mouth open at a microphone.

Jesus, poor guy, can’t compete in the pileup,

in the suffocating then now there here them us you.

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