The Cop Magnet

Image: Pixabay

This poem was inspired by a true story. It is about a sporty little car (I must point out here that the car pictured was not quite it) that suddenly took my fancy. It tells the story of what happened when I decided to go against the grain and not be the ever-practical, responsible Mum.

The title is what my teen-aged daughters dubbed the car when I told them how I had come across my ‘bargain buy’. It turned out to be an accurate description. It attracted the attention of the police wherever it went and needless to say it didn’t last long, but boy oh boy it was fun to drive. Even today there’s still a part of me that wants it back.

The poem gained a highly commended in the humorous section of the Silver Quill Written Bush Poetry Competition.




Oh! I can make excuses;

blame a crisis of some sort;

the reasons still elude me

but on this much I have thought.

Of all the stupid things I’ve done,

this beats them all by far,

the day I went and bought myself

that sporty little car.


The station wagon guzzled fuel,

I wanted something small.

The kids had grown and left,

I didn’t need its size at all.

But all the cars I looked at

were much more than I could pay.

I saw it then with hasty sign –



Its paintwork was immaculate

in British racing green.

It had the thinnest, widest tyres

I had ever seen.

It came with spoiler, scoop and skirts

and windows tinted dark.

Its duco polished mirror bright

without a single mark.


My eyes grew wide in love-struck awe,

it surely wasn’t true,

could I afford to buy this dream

in deep metallic hue?

The seller was quite anxious,

took my offer straight away.

He said he had some nasty bills

he really had to pay.


Now trouble started right away

with one thing I should add;

when pulled up by that copper bloke

whose name, I think, was Brad.

I’d only driven autos

for some thirty years or more

and this car was a manual

with six gears on the floor.





So I was counting out those shifts

and didn’t watch my speed.

The sight of Brad had flustered me

(my failure to take heed)

and sometimes,

when I’m really scared,

I kind of get the shakes

so I forgot the bloody clutch

when slamming on those brakes.


That car it spluttered,

heaved and jerked,

then promptly coughed and snuffed

and from the way

that Brad now looked –

I thought me goose was stuffed.

He checked out all my papers

making sure that car was mine

and went ahead and wrote me out

a hefty speeding fine.


He checked that car all over,

going really extra slow,

it seemed like half the day had gone

before he let me go.

I swear I didn’t mean it

for I’m not an extrovert –

I dropped the clutch

and spun the tyres –

showered him in dirt!


From then on in he pulled me over

every chance he got

and then he got his friends on side –

I knew the flaming lot.

They breathalysed and analysed

and drugs were tested too.

I had a pile of fines that stretched

from here to Uluru.


I had no choice…I made that sign…


and watched with great relief

another driver drive away.

I’m looking at an auto now,

a simple little hatch,

but find I’m thinking…RACING CAR!…

the type the cops can’t catch!


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