Eighteen.

I could smell the wood in the shop,

the spilt brake fluid on the ground.

My hands grasped the plastic steering wheel.

My knees rested on the cold steel frame,

my body too big to properly fit.

I took my foot off the brake and felt the car

slowly begin to roll down the slope outside the shop.

I nervously touched the throttle and felt the car accelerate

Success. But did it stop? My heart thumping,

I hit the brakes. No problem. How fast could it go?

With great joy I floored the throttle and felt

the car get accelerate, the wind fly through my hair.

My team tried to run with the car but they

could not keep up. It drove, it drove, it drove.

The car really drove! Who knew how

many hours had been invested.

It was all worth it to drive the car out of the shop.

We had to clean up and go home.

It drove, it really drove.

All those hours, made the reward so much sweeter.

I could not sleep, eighteen.

 

(ISO Stafford “Fifteen”)

 

This poem is about the first drive of our high schools solar car. If you would like to learn more about our project visit our website https://www.okemosracing.org

 

 

CC BY-SA 4.0 A First Drive by Will Jones is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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