In Line at the Star Wars Convention
I just kept wondering,
if the Empire took every fat bearded white guy here
and stood them against this concrete wall,
how long would that line stretch?
Probably to Alpha Centauri,
or another galaxy equally far, far away.
At least all the way down the long, long
red carpet to the Tatooine Ballroom!
High priest George in his orange flight suit
would be first, followed by that Jabba
the size of a Pizza Hut, or the three hundred
and twenty-five pound storm trooper
with the high-impact polystyrene armor
custom-molded to contain the enormity
of his planetary girth – belly so big
he uses it as a gun rack
for the plasma blaster built from PVC
drain pipe and assorted plumbing parts.
Perhaps he is protecting the two hundred
and fifty pound Queen Amidala
perfect in every detail and accessory,
except for her proportion, but the tall
beauty of Padmé is mirrored by Stacey and Jamie
looking as if they have regally jumped
from celluloid and sand skimmers,
until they speak English, and it’s obvious,
they hail from the planet Min-nah So-dah.
Darling Elizabeth comes from Panama
with two and a half month old Sarah,
waiting without an anti-grav equipped
stroller on the hot and dusty tarmac
of the Indy Space Convention Center
to be re-united with husband James;
he possesses a renowned “Fan Club” badge
and has entered the great hall an hour early.
Kei Sato has come with concubine
Hannah Marston of Columbus,
since Christmas planning the two-day trek
to see all the pageantry and costumes
(her biggest thrill is to be kissing a storm trooper).
“Kentucky” Haynes of the black T-shirt brigade,
with a 22-inch skull across his chest,
has brought Linda and her brother to see fluffy Ewoks,
killing time waiting for Anthony Daniels to shake
the hands of the faithful and lucky in line.
At the cathedral across the street,
a voice proclaims from well-placed wall speakers,
an invitation to salvation, an open door to eternal life,
but the portals of the rebellion swing wide;
the line begins to shuffle into the starred darkness,
moving the future’s chain gang.
Jedi Knight “Diago” of Buenos Aires prods me along,
sporting facial jewelry in nose and eyebrows,
head shaven clean except for the fu manchu;
it appears his dark side is peeking through.
He is anxious for exclusive
convention products and celebrity signatures.
He cannot keep the force in check
as we cross the threshold into fantasy at a trot,
light saber bouncing from his belt.
Scott Brewer is a member of the Writer's Center of Indiana and the Poetry Alliance of Indy. He grew up in the small town of Fairmount, Indiana. He received a BA from Wabash College in 1980, and is currently the
City Forester for Carmel, Indiana. Scott received an individual artist grant
in 2005 from the Indiana Arts Commission to publish a small book of poetry, Indiana Instinct and Everyday Blues.