I remember how keen my fingers were
To tear you quickly out of your box.
Then equip you with your trusty blaster,
Which up our Hoover was soon lost.
Oh Star Wars Death Squad commander
I loved you despite your lack of elbows and knees.
I was just happy to own a piece of Star Wars
In those days us kids were easy to please.
Sadly I couldn’t afford the Death Star
To give you a base from which to command.
So from an old box the washer came in,
I armed myself with a black felt and a plan.
To transform that mountain of waste card,
Into what I thought for you was a fitting base.
Full of trap doors, exhaust ports and cell blocks,
Plus a hidden trash compactor space.
So when you adventured with Action Man,
Or fought off a LEGO rebel attack.
You defended your cardboard Empire with pride,
But now I find that as I write this and look back.
That I wonder if I’d left you in your packet,
And put you safely away in the loft
That today your eBay value,
Might have covered a plasma TV’s cost.
But my young hands just wanted to play,
I couldn’t keep you to myself
Would we have had half as much fun
If I’d left you in the box on my shelf?