‘Little Nell’ attends to the cry of a yellow man.
My yellow hands are clawing,
Are clawing at the air;
My stiff legs are see-sawing,
My stiff chest full of care.
Yes, I am made of plastic!
Yes, I am but a toy!
My morals are elastic,
My cryptic smile is coy.
My hairstyle is perpetual,
My head spins round and round.
Remember me? I bet you’ll.
My influence was profound.
I could be Harry Potter,
Darth Vader or an Orc,
A thorough-going rotter,
A hero: did I baulk?
I never baulked. I knew
That I was Everyman.
My duty was to you,
The child and the fan.
In your small hands I lived,
I moved and had my being,
As purchase and as gift;
My shapeshifting was freeing:
Unlike my fellow Dane’s,
My Denmark was no prison,
I had my aches and pains,
But no real grief had risen
Until this latest trick,
Which fills my empty head
So yellow and so slick
With worry and with dread.
Am I to be a cool,
A hypocritical,
Both sides v. middle tool
Geopolitical?
Sure, I can sing my song
For shahs and presidents,
Can smile and cheer along
With palace residents,
And ayatollahs too
Enjoy my full support;
Please don’t think me untrue:
I’m only a good sport.
And, as I said, no man,
No man; a plastic thing…
I have no ground to stand,
No human hands to wring.
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