Little Boy Vanguard – a Prison Poem About Raniere, Clare Bronfman and Allison Mack

I originally published this poem on July 4, 2018 – after Keith Alan Raniere was arrested [3/26/2018] and Allison Mack was arrested [4/20/18] and before Clare Bronfman was arrested [July 24, 2018].

I was prophesying that all three of them would wind up in prison.

My poem refers to Clare Bronfman as a dog not because of her appearance but because of her blind loyalty to Raniere – which, in the end, was sure to ruin her. Allison, as most readers will know, is the actress in the poem.

And of course, Little Boy Vanguard is Keith Alan Raniere who, since I wrote the poem, was convicted at trial and will be sentenced in October to what is likely to be a life sentence.

I offer then my little poem now more two years after I first presented it –  Little Boy Vanguard in both written and audio form. My recording of it is at the end of this post. It is meant to be set in a time in the future – many years from now when Mack and Bronfman still hang on to the memory of their Vanguard, who they have not seen because they are in prison as he is also.

And this is especially apropos for Bronfman who this month wrote to the judge that she was sticking to her Vanguard, which might mean an extra-long prison sentence for her.

Little Boy Vanguard

The little rich dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch she stands;
The little DOS actress is red with rust,
And her pubic brand spells K-R-A-M.

Time was when the little rich dog was new
And the actress was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Vanguard
Kissed them and put them there.

“Now, don’t you go till I cum,” he said,
“And don’t you make any noise in my little sex lair”
Then, trundling off to his Mexican Villa
He dreamed of the pretty slaves branded with his monogram there;

And as he was dreaming, an FBI warrant
Awakened our Little Boy Vanguard —

Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little DOS slaves are true!

Aye, faithful to Little Boy Vanguard they stand,
Each in the same old place —
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
And the smile of a cross-eyed face;

And they wonder, as waiting these long years through
In the dust of that prison chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Vanguard

Since he kissed them and put them there.

Here is my audio rendition of the poem.

Frank Parlato