I Must Object

I Must Object

(“I tell you that everyone will have to answer for all the careless things they have said. This will happen on the day of judgment.” Matthew 12:36)

I have no memory of those words, your honor;
nor harm the proffered evidence sliced and left
wounded. I heard you call it “blunt force trauma”, sir;
spiderweb bruises from the point of impact extending
to the this judgment seat.

I must object that I could have used my fists or any weapon
at the ready. Though I do not own one, I could have fired a gun
and done more damage. You’ve seen the broken bones and
blackened eyes and canceled the debt called self-defense. I
must object.

I recall none of those sentences or tones, obscenities or
sticks and stones;

And, for the record, I never wrote down a single word
(how could they have heard what I did not record?)

The evidence is slim, the decades dim the syllables any
of us spoke over the din of recycled epithets.

The jury is in? I have no more words to say, having no words
to summon. They are just air and consonants, stops and vowels,
puffing air and clucking tongue, breaking up the air and
meaning nothing until tickling someone’s eardrum. They
bounce between atoms, the elevated hum of thought and syntax.

My mind is a revolving reservoir; I can remember every word
like cannon shot ever fired my way. But, for the life of me,
I cannot remember the word the accuser insists I spoke to
him

Yesterday.