Lynched
A rope of rumor, a knot of hate.
tightens around a name.
It pulls and loops through mouths
like a saffron thread snagging on a needle's eye.
The rope yanks him from his doorstep
to the street's cold dock
and wraps around his right to exist.
The rope reeks of pasture,
of green fields that once held peace.
Then it tightens with glances
circling the cloth on his head.
The rope is coiled again
For the next name.
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