1980

You were Skywalker, I was Solo.
Dad’s leather jacket and Mum’s cream curtain robes.

You spun your painted blue cardboard tube
Over your head, added sound effects
Swish, voom, kssh and swoop.
You used the force to rustle up leaves
Whilst I blasted stormtroopers
And peppered pines trees,
Jumping from logs and over rushing streams,
Fighting off our imaginary enemies
Until dusk.

You hid your arm up your sleeve for the whole day
Keeping in character, as I did, too.
We both laughed when I tried to backflip.
Misplaced my foot, tumbled and tripped
And from it –
A bruise emerged on the side of my hip,
Black and round. I feared the telling of my parents
For the leather was torn and the fabric was ripped.
The pain went when you called it the Death Star,
One of your Jedi mind-tricks.

We’re too old for it now.
The jacket doesn’t fit, the curtains were binned,
And Mum and Dad wouldn’t allow it.

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