I may be just a metal woman,
rust for brains,
but hot lubricant courses through these tubes.
I want more than a battery powered thrust
between my legs.
I am looking for love
a man to ignite my jets,
but no one with an ounce of fresh gristle
wants to be held in my solid grasp
They run as if rocket powered.
I thought I’d build me a man,
all pistons and genuine aluminum six pack.
I collected the parts,
drew up the schematics,
but though everything functioned,
went down and up as needful,
I could never find the place
to install real lasting love.
It wasn’t long before he left me
for a vending machine.
I think I might try again, someday,
to build me a metal mate,
a man with big pistons and a sense of fun,
but first I need to work out
where you put the love
and how you keep it there
so it doesn’t fall out
or corrode or snap,
unless you want it to,
after one vend too many.
This poem will be published as part of “Songs of Steelyard Sue” (ISBN 9781909252028) by Lapwing Publications later in the summer.
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