He’s cleaning his Cortina’s carburettor
And trying to fix his fragile four-stroke heart;
His partner says their love life could be better –
The diagnostics show that they will part.

Whatever revved them up before has gone;
He used to serenade her with a sonnet.
Now feats of engineering turn him on –
He gets his kicks from underneath the bonnet

Where pistons pump in cylinders of steel;
Each time he puts his foot down to the floor,
It makes him feel the way he wants to feel:
Secure – a motor won’t walk out the door.

Machines won’t break your heart, like people can;
He prefers to be a petrosexual man.

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