‘Creationist,’ he said. ‘That’s what I am.’
I nod, and shuffle in my seat.
Willing to listen.
Hoping to understand.
Struggling to accept.
I ask why his scientific mind would be so keen
To reclassify all he’s ever known.
He says it isn’t like that.
He’s seen a video or two.
They explain it all.
Along with the intellect of Trump.
The empathy of Johnson.
The terrorism of Labour.
I’m sorry, I say, as I leave the room.
Torn between out-loud laughs of disbelief
And terror for my baby’s mental health.
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