I'm a third generation Robotic,
A complex of wires, steel and tin.
With all of the usual components,
You might find in an engineer's bin.
I can walk, I can talk, I've got feelings,
I've been sprayed a quite nice shade of gold.
The thing that I seem to be missing,
Is a heart, well so I've been told!
My blood is pure SAE 30,
My muscles give quite a display.
Oh! It's all written down in my handbook,
I really must read that someday.
I'm a third generation robotic,
And I'm perfectly happy to say.
That I'll do all the chores and the washing,
Then carry up tea on a tray.
My makers have fitted me up with,
A head full of wires, togs and gears.
But I notice that they have omitted,
The tap from which humans get 'tears'.
There's a gadget for raising an eyebrow,
Another for smelling a rose.
What a shame when building this model,
They left out the aquiline nose.
I'm a robot Mark III, look carefully you'll see,
That I'm licensed for all kinds of sport.
Like soccer or draughts or to 'white-water' raft,
Some games that with danger are fraught
Now I sit, stand or crouch in a corner,
With concern writ large on my face.
For, believe it or not, I'm the pattern,
Of the next phase of your 'Human Race'.
Martin Caplan
Red Lane
Bolton
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