Because I didn't see Star Wars on May 25th, 1977

This is a poem about a fantastic movie.

I couldn’t wait with bated breath

for asteroids and lightsabers

as yellow text faded into space.

 

I didn’t have the chance to decide who was dreamier"

Luke Skywalker or Han Solo?

They’re both aging men. (Though I would’ve picked Han.)

           

I didn’t drool over spaceship battles or envy the princess.

A battle in space (fictional, and probably real) is fairly conceivable.

The special effects aren’t that impressive these days,

and Leia’s hair has always been a pair of cinnamon puns.

 

I will never need to pick up my chin

from the sticky floor of a movie theater,

because I’ve always known

two of the most jarring twists in movie history:

Luke, I am your father.

There is another Skywalker.

 

What did the Death Star

ominous and massive"

or Darth Vader

tall, dark and wheezing"

inspire in nerds across the galaxy,

and in galaxies far, far away?

 

When Luke goes searching for Old Ben Kenobi,

I criticize the creative skills of a Jedi knight,

at least in regards to unrecognizable aliases.

 

I would fight a Storm Trooper

to see Obi Wan teach young Luke

the ways of the Jedi, to hear

for the first time, “The Force

surrounds us and penetrates us all.

It binds the galaxy together.”

 

Thirty-three years later,

the same can be said about Star Wars.