Noblesse Oblige

Sitting in the seat beside me in a sunny

yellow dress with kittens frolicking on it,

she turned to me in a shaky voice, near tears,

and said, “I saw daddy hit my mommy this

morning”. I don’t remember what I said in

in my rush to comfort her, but I do know it

was inept and weak, like swabbing ointment

thinly on a cut that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

As the low-ranking new hire, I’d been tapped

to drive the board president’s four-year-old

daughter to McDonald’s for lunch, her mom

being busy with commitments, about to chair

the meeting of our family advocacy agency

quartered in Old Banker’s Row in a leased

mansion walled in stone, all mahogany and

carved oak inside, windows of stained glass.

Mom left Allison to wait for me in the foyer.

Attractive, dressed in a business suit, she had

the look of dignified reserve and old money.

On the way out to my car, I caught a glimpse

of an abandoned ink-bled print of the agenda

on the copier, item for review: latest statistics

on the rise of family violence in our inner city.