With the Death Star in foreclosure,
and the Storm Troopers laid off,
he had begun to doubt his
that the Force would be with him.
Not even his old pal Jabba
was willing to grant him a loan
to pay his child’s support anymore,
citing too high a credit risk
in an unstable galactic economy.
The bank surveillance camera showed
a nervous cyborg dressed in camouflage,
one mechanical hand pointing
a lightsaber at the scared young teller;
but it was the heavy breathing
that had ultimately
tipped off authorities.
And as he fled the scene that morning,
Darth Vader felt a tinge of nostalgia
for the good old days,
when he could warp speed himself
out of anything,
or choke a man unconscious
if he really needed to escape.
He despised the life of the petty criminal,
preferring to smash rebel alliances
and seize their assets,
play all those Jedi mind-tricks
that had once earned him a reputation
as CEO of the dark side,
before the bailouts
and calls for reform came,
when the growth of the Empire
had still seemed inevitable,
a long time ago,
in a galaxy far, far away.