Poem – My Electric Soap Box. 24 April 2021.

Image adapted from a free digitally enhanced Getty studio picture of a similarly styled soap box.

My Electric Soup Box (c) Kevin Jones 2021

My Electric Soup Box

When engineering took its grip before I was eleven,

I was still a Birchills lad – it was around nineteen sixty-seven.

Now like all kids of my age I had a soup box go cart,

Pushing and puffing to the nearest hill then hurtling down – a racing heart.

I soon wanted more from this racing machine,

My thought was styling to make it look mean.

Still not enough to make it stand out,

Then all of a sudden “Eureka” I shout.

Let’s make it an electrically driven soup box,

We have a car battery – only 12v so no shocks.

What we needed was something to turn,

So off to see Dad – what could I learn?

“I have a starter motor you could drive on a back wheel”,

He soon wired it up and fixed it by feel.

All of a sudden it was time for a test,

Power on or off but it was still the best.

A go cart like no other around,

A noisy whirling electric motor made quite a sound.

It could, however, get you back up the hill,

And on the flat, wow – it was quite a thrill.

The brake was a stick rubbing on the back tyre,

Steering via rope was often quite dire.

Not always enough to make the next bend,

Often the need for a wet tissue – grazed knees to tend.

I soon got bored with the soap box cart,

It was too “rustic” if I am true to my heart.

My engineering was now firmly in two juxtaposition poles,

Electronics and steam filling my mind’s inquisitive holes.

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