A quiet face above the counter
Shy but resolutely asking for help
A loud bruise over an eye,
Announcing fear and grief.
In all the news and all the words,
Of men who say that we are making mountains out of molehills,
Or worse, looking for trouble,
It seems there are never enough moments
For quiet faces,
Looking out and asking, faintly, for help.
Never ceases to confound and sadden me, seeing a battered woman in the office.