Vader Redux

They all hate me, that Rebel Alliance,
those troublemakers in their X-wing fighters.
They don’t want me to build the Death Star,
my greatest idea. It’s huge, the size of a moon,
a deterrent, a barrier, a wall if you will,
against alien insurgents, rapists and murderers.
I mean, what’s the point of a Death Star
If you can’t use it? I can’t think of a better way
to get rid of all those shithole planets.
They hate my storm troopers too—
good people, just misunderstood.
I want a parade with the greatest show of force
this galaxy has ever seen. They’ll all salute me.
I know more than the generals anyway.
Maybe I didn’t have a chance to play
galactic war with action figures as a kid.
Maybe my dad didn’t give me enough attention,
and when he did, he criticized me without mercy.
But none of that matters now. I’m at the top
of the heap. They all fear my imposing presence—
the mask, the black cloak, the full head of hair.
I can choke any of them with a single thought,
and my lightsaber is the biggest, in my really huge hands.
That lyin’ Kenobi learned the hard way.
Just you wait—I’ll Make the Empire Great Again!

—Bruce Niedt