Darth Vader sports ye olde chainmail and has a turkey leg
in his left hand and a program in his right.
He is muddy AND dusty, smelling of grease and that crocodile stand.
He has never been happier, never more carefree.
He is cinched into a corset. Only the purple one had fit,
highlighting his chest plate a bit too much, though he agreed,
it brought out his color. He did try out one of those kilts too,
but the squeals of the ladies made him feel bare,
even with artificial limbs. And he wasn’t too sure
what he was supposed to wear under there—after all, it was a drafty day.
But that corset… He felt sexy and daring—the most self-loving ever.
And he had been asked where to park! The best compliment ever!
He looked the part—(all those flower crowns and moccasins had been worth it.)
Vader changed hats three times, getting holos of himself with each,
sending them gleefully to the Emperor and Tarkin.
Currently, he was wearing a velvet pirate hat.
He winked, no one could see him do it,
but he all but skipped to the parking area.
Once in his hover craft, his turkey leg would be sealed for later,
a real report given to the Emperor,
but for now, he was a sexy bootlegging spice pirate vixen, with heavy breathing.

————

Kim Malinowski earned her B.A. from West Virginia University and her M.F.A. from American University. She studies with The Writers Studio. Her chapbook Death: A Love Story was published by Flutter Press. Her work was featured in Faerie Magazine and appeared in Melancholy Hyperbole, Door = Jar, Mythic Delirium, Calliope, and others.