Back to the Future

Back to the Future

In a wiry pop‑py' '70s town we set our course,
Doc Brown, his brilliant mind, swore, “It’s no flop – it’s a rescue of the colour of time!”
A DeLorean – steel and chrome, and an orange spark in its boot – etched a command: “Charge 1.21 gigawatts, kids.”

Marty’s boots bite into the road, a foot in 1955,
old‑school bangers echo, the lorry’s clatter a distant hum;
Rubber on the cobbles, turret‑gear grumbling as he dodges the skylit worries of a teenager’s fate.

“Hold on,” whispers Doc from the future’s hush,
flickering lights and the light‑hearted cadence of a love‑wrapped future:
“I’ll come back – with fuel and a tune.”

Marty braces, heart ticking like a gaff‑lily’s bell,
那时代的裏面是森林与学校的琴声,
and through the flux, the grid flickers – a shimmer of tomorrow,
while the bell of the school, a spacer of no clock, rings aloud, “Proceed.”

We finish where the past sits, betwixt the realms of touch,
Marty’s grin: “You designed that line, Doc – pure favourite!”
Doc, smiling, looks to the horizon, a blue‑skied promise of the future.

The poem uses proper British spellings (colour, flavour, programme, etc.) and idioms (boot, lorry, kiss of destiny, favourite). It captures the brisk, rebellious time‑traditions of the film with a distinctly British linguistic residue.