Joan Smith
A Memory
The rank smell of hot diesel
recalls boats bobbing by the quay
all spick and span for ‘Captain’s rounds’.
I’m scraping verdigris,
thick, oozy, sickly green -
sea damage. When the points are clean
I test the switch: the job is done.
The wardroom cabin’s warm.
Outside, a squally storm.
The young lieutenant
offers a drink. Too shy
to answer more than smiling in reply
I think of rosy possibilities.
Young and self-centred, for me Hitler’s war
offers adventure. What we’re fighting for
is not in doubt. Under the grey North Sea
lying in wait, a ruthless enemy.
I help to equip the hunters, that’s my task -
more I don’t ask.
Page(s) 44
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