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
A number of times a day.
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?
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.