Illustration by Jim Cooke.

I am Barron
I am ten

I am a city child
I live at The Trump Tower

There is a lobby which is enormously tacky
with gold-plated escalators and bald men with heart disease in it and a revolving
door of ousted transition staff in it

I spend an awful lot of time in the lobby
For instance every day I have to go to the
Desk Clerk to schedule a child’s massage for one

Then I stop by the Business Center to see if my father has sent a tweet about me or my projects

Then I go to the House Phones and make several calls to see if anybody has heard from my mother


The press pool knows who I am

If there is a lot of luggage trying to get in the elevator and these people are all in a crowd and red-faced and screaming from out of town or something, I edge into the middle of it and pretend I am from Florida, the bad part

I am a nuisance in my home
My father said so
He is the Owner
I always say, “Good morning, Father”
And he always says, “Please find Ivanka”


I live on the top three floors
and can do whatever I like
so if I want to go anywhere I simply crawl through a ceiling vent
For instance if I happen to be hungry I just
crawl through the vent all the way down to the kitchen but I
pretend I am in an elevator for fun and say to no one, “Basement please” and
picture the elevator doors clanking and then opening again but
really I tumble out of the vent, covered in air conditioner grease and dead skin and tell
the head Chef that I am hungry for a tomato sandwich and will he
please make me one even though I know he is not technically a
trained chef but actually one of Father’s cousins from Queens but at least
he is kind to me and pats me on the head and says
“Now now Barron” and gives me a glass of milk.

Then I see a gold platter being prepared for Father
And I look in its reflection at me

Here’s what I can do
Play squash
Jump one foot into the air
Lift the A-E dictionary
Answer to the name, “Ivanka”
Stand on my head for the longest amount of time
Sing Father’s favorite song
It is: “Is That All There Is”


My mother is 46 and has a charge account at Barney’s
She wears a 10 ½ shoe

Sometimes I want to have a bath
But my mother has locked herself in
And is on a big telephone with “Michael the Attorney”
My mother knows Anna Wintour

She goes to Europe and to North Dakota
And sends for me if I am needed for the campaign
I am always packed in case I have to board the jet
At a moment’s notice or something like that
My mother was going to be a supermodel
But is now a figurehead, whatever that means


Sometimes I become ill
With a headache or a fever or a terrible stomach growling
And I have to crawl into the kitchen at 8 o’clock in the evening
And eat a chocolate out of Father’s chocolate closet

After all I am only 10

Oh my Trump
There’s so much to do
Tomorrow I think I’ll crawl into a couch cushion and have the Prime Minister of Israel sit on me


Oooooooooooooooooooooo I absolutely love the Tower

Note: This was written and prepared before another blog published a very similar thing.