A poem about Star Wars from outside the fandom
|Whose Heart Beats Beneath?
Outside a fandom looking in
A fellow has to wonder
At the endless, senseless waste
As waves and waves of bulky white
emerge from undulating ships
To rise, go forth, to fall and die
A stream of nameless soldiers
on a fatal march to doom
What lies beneath those bulky suits?
What desolate souls were raised and
loved and nurtured through the intervening
before assignment to the corps?
What evil, twisted emperor with a sick, demented mind
Sent them forth to battle? With firepower,
but less training than the midnight temp security guard at the
just off Freeway 56 outside Dubuque
Is that a son or daughter, friend or foe,
or perhaps a lonely clone
lurking under the boxy curves?
A heart beats, that is certain, but does it
beat under skin that is black or brown or white or...
something different (remembering the Cantina scene
and suddenly unsure of the humanity)
To borrow from another fandom
(though also not mine)...
Every trekkie knows that whatever the color of
skin or heart or soul,
their shirts must surely be unrelenting red.