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.