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