The Jedi Master

THE JEDI MASTER My grocery bag stares at me as if I’m the enemy. Hans Solo holds his gun, the Wookie towers over him. Princess Leia clings to his walking furball waist. Carrie, draped in white, like now, six feet under, boys still ogling her and her two pinwheel curls. Skywalker, the kid, bends down reaches out, shaky hand of a jedi-in-training. Is It I that they fear? The furball slants his head, as animal’s often do, with contemplation. An armchair “Darth Vader” with a Starbuck’s coffee cup, I turn my eyes away. The fab-four hasn’t moved. Only as I snatch them up, lift them up to the chrome vehicle, whisk them away to a place with books, hide them in the dark, close the door, do they understand, they have no power, except that given by the master. 8/31/2017 Light Poetry