Trotsky for me was riding
high up on the back of the tractor.

Trotsky for me was taking a bath naked
with my little friend in the bathtub.

Trotsky for me was riding
high up on the bicycle’s handlebars.

Trotsky for me was using ash wood
to make arrows like those of the Sioux in the Americas.

Our family was supposedly Trotskyist.
But I didn’t know who Trotsky was.