If that law firm was a person

He wears his privilege

You can see it as he walks

A halo of light – he imagines sometimes

It bouncing off his gold watch

And his brown brogue shoes.

 

His suit fits

The tailor knew his father

And the tailor’s father knew his father’s father

The shop front looks like a house

A small white villa

On Tinakori Road.

 

He adjusts his the length of his sleeves

Sub consciously

A number of times a day.

 

Interns

And juniors

Start to whisper about It.

 

He wears cufflinks

Gifted to him on his graduation

He will pass them on to his son.

 

(In the weekend

He sits on the end of his son’s bed

Reads “Harry Potter”

His son asks why “He Who Must not be Named”

Must Not be Named?

Dad?)

 

He holds a glass of golden whiskey

In his hand after a long day

 

(Sparkling halo slung off the corner of his red leather over stuffed chair)

 

He is the last one up

He turns off the tall wooden floor lamp.

And closes the book.

– Anonymous