Next Best Things

 
This year, I‘ve decided to summer on Mars.
Now, this might seem an oddity,
But my knack for whimsical notions
Is often a handy commodity.

When questioned for a reason why,
I’ll employ an audacious defense.
“To strike a determined blow,” I’ll assert.
“Against tyrannical common sense.”

I can warmly imagine the bracing effects
Of Martian Summer breezes,
And the optical wonders to be enjoyed
As carbon dioxide freezes.

Imagine the confidence I’ll gain,
And the breathtaking thrills I’ll share;
Spending three months at ninety below,
With one tenth of the requisite air.

And how does one describe the sight,
Or express the majesty,
Of a blood-red, iron oxide plain,
Stretching far as the eye can see.

If it doesn’t work out (the Mars thing, I mean),
I think “Plan B” is equally witty.
It involves shacking up with a chica, I met,
At a gin joint in Alphabet City.

Her statistics are astronomical.
At perihelion, they're far from shoddy;
So whatever happens, I’ll be assured
Of exploring a heavenly body.