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
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