I used to walk home after school,
flip on He-Man, and watch the cartoon
eating chocolate chip cookies with milk.
The blue sky appeared soft as silk.
At the end of the show, He-Man would offer
a life lesson for us “boys and girls.”
It was usually about not telling a lie,
then there’d be an ad, a He-Man toy to buy.
I never saw He-Man conspiring with Skeletor
behind the scenes, the trash compactor
of morality kept from kids, his blond mop
rippling as he raised a sword up
and blared, “I have the power!”
No sign of a white wizard, a broker
of information, visiting He-Man
or his green tiger—that stayed mum
as the sun set on suburban California,
before He-Man married Melania
and the show morphed into a tragedy
of language, no ties to morality.
Instead, it was the white wizard who spun
the tail, and in 80’s cartoon unison
let the evil ones run—villains appearing
with a flash, and us boys and girls cheering.
“It’s hard to write about Julian Assange and his influence on well…everything. I don’t know why the sudden bout of boyhood nostalgia in the poem hit me, but I wanted to convey the change that has occurred in the world, at least in my consciousness. And I know that this is completely unacceptable today, but yes, I was a child once and I listened to He-Man.”