My brother’s mad on motorcars.
Although, if you happened to ask him
about the steering.
He’d probably reply its a handlebar.
It happened like this one fine day.
We were at his friend’s house to play.
His friend called us to the garage and showed us the Punk,
His daddy’s latest piece of junk
It had a startling purple body
And not anything I’d call sturdy
What car it was, I could not make out.
So I asked my brother to clear my doubt.
From the way he stared at me, I could clearly see,
That when it came to cars, he was dumber than me.
“See! Here are the keys!” His friend announced next.
“Could you hold them I’ll be back in a sec.”
Jingling the keys, my brother watched him go.
Then thoughtfully turned upwards and said, “D, you know?”
“Know what?” I asked, guessing he was up to something.
“That I could try to drive the Punk, you’ll see? It’s nothing!”
“All you do is insert the keys, ignite it,
Pull back this thing, press the pedal, and hit ..”
“Are you sure that’s it I asked him doubtfully.”
“Of course-I’m an expert!” he replied scornfully.
I was not so sure, but I did not tell him that.
Instead, I looked cautiously this way and that.
The coast was clear, no one was about.
“Come on! I hissed, “Let’s get it out!”
With trembling fingers, he fumbled at the door.
I settled inside, waiting for what was in store.
Somehow, he managed to start The Punk.
It seemed in pretty good shape, for a piece of junk.
But the moment we were on the road.
My brother’s fear clearly showed.
“Okay, so we did it!
Uh-well, any idea how to stop it?
What I mean is, – I’d like to return now,
So could you tell me how?”
He stopped when he saw my shocked look
A couple of allows he quickly took,
“Er-just stamp on the brakes!” I prompted.
But we continued to speed ahead.
Honking the horn. dodging trucks,
Today, I thought, we’ve run out of luck,
Scenes flashed past through the window.
A couple of cows, then some boys in a row.
Then come sparrows pecking at a cake.
But all our attention was on to find the brake.
Suddenly I remembered something and looked under my seat,
And sure enough! The emergency hand brake was wedged underneath
I yanked it hard-as hard as I could and then-
The Punk jerked hard, sputtered, and stopped at the bend.
My brother let out the breath he’d been holding.
While let go the handbrake that I’d been holding.
He courageously called up Mr. Brown, his friend’s dad
Who arrived at the spot and drove us carefully back,
Mr. Brown never said a word during the whole ride,
Only glazed at us when we arrived, though we tried to hide.
When our mom asked us about the Punk,
My brother winked at me and said, “Oh it’s just a piece of junk!”