Essay. Part I

What can you do?
asks the man wearing a flak jacket,
guessing already I am as useful as a
split lip.

“For Protection” he says smearing goop across my forehead. My father is a sculptor, And I am the wax figure he created. With the help of his rough working hands, On my face, he layers-on a sheet of Vaseline. Staring…

man on stage:
diane!
diane!
diannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnne…