Tom Bennet’s Gold Watch

by Pieter Mark Koehorst

He’s sitting in his comfy chair,

Shouting orders at unsuspecting young cargo workers


He hides me in the double bunk,

Behind the freezer,

With the cans of tinned beans,


Me, 7 years old,

Listening to his great “Boogie-Woogie” CD,

At 6 in the morning,


His old Teddy Duck,

Sitting faithfully on his lorry mantle-piece,

Waiting to protect him,


Plastic packets of ham and tuna sandwiches,

Lying with the crumbs of ’86’,

In the industrial sized bin up front,


The thunderous engine,

Telling me to strap in,

And start eating my plain crackers,

Watching the world go by,

Playing with his shiny Gold Watch.