The Lost Boy – and the Yak Hair

I am ten
Look at those crowds
I want to touch my mother
She is so close, but not close at all
She is smart and smells of flowers
Close enough to smell
But she mustn’t be ruffled – touched
Not even her eyes
Which I want to look into
My father is long gone
My pen pal in London wrote me that they’re using
Yak hair for a statue of him, made of wax
It’s the only hair that is like his, on top
He is omnipotent
I learned that word from my Nanny
She said that was what Dad was
I asked her what it meant and she said an
Arrested childhood. That dad got stuck in needing his power
He sacked her for that
Look at them cheering him
Like he won a ball game all by himself
I feel so alone
I am
I am ten
My name is?
I wish Mother would touch me
Here in front of those terrible crowds
I am Barren
A coming man
Jan Woolfon reflection of the President elect taking the podium.
Naomi Klein article:
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