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Clockwork Car

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Below is the poem entitled Clockwork Car which was written by poet Terry Trainor. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Clockwork Car

Cleaning out the attic I found an old clockwork car sitting in my toy box
It was old and rusty the wheels still went round and it had plenty of knocks,
There was a small hole in the side that was rusted around its green tin sides,
A little square for a key and had two seats to take my toy soldiers for rides,
So that was it, I was hooked searching high and low looking for the right key,
But then I saw it hiding under an old chair it was dark and it was hard to see,
Now the excitement kicked in happily and I fitted the metal key into the slot,
And wound it up round and round it went it was a bit stiff my thumb hurt a lot,
It finally stopped winding it was ready so then I put the car down on the floor,
But it just stayed where it was, not rushing off like a bullet, not like before,
So I got thin winder and forced it to give another half turn and gave it a bash,
The useless car still did not move it just sat where it was and it did not dash,
Desperate measures were needed, decisions there was only one thing I could do,
I would have to take the car apart, carefully and fiddle about with the screw,
So I levered the the side and scratched some paint with my trusted Swiss blade,
The rotten old bottom bottom pinged off and flew to a corner it was poorly made,
I finally got to the main spring it was a bit rusted and it had been over wound,
So losing my temper the car got shouted at and I bashed the car upon the ground.
Something gave it rattled so I shook it and made all the little windows fall out,
Again deeper in frustration I tapped it with a hammer then I gave it a real clout,
To my surprise the hammer blow worked but a little red man flew across the floor,
With just a torch I searched the attic but he was lost and I will see him no more,
There was still no movement from the clockworks so this time it was a softer tap,
Then pain shot through my foot with only socks on I just stood on the poor chap,
It came to that time when it was do or die so I gave the car a great hard whack,
I had hit it too hard and the top caved in now the bloody thing will not go back,
After my assault on the tin racing car there is just a pile of tin on the floor,
Grabbing the bits throwing them in the box now bored I will play with it no more.

Copyright © Terry Trainor

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