The world is slowly turning
But it’s quickly getting stranger
No one has good answers
And everywhere, there’s danger
Some of us look heavenward
Repeating our entreaties
Moving through the Lenten season
Toward the “Quem quaeritis?”
Others study heaven
Simply looking at the stars
Like those who funded NASA
And have set their sights on Mars
So amid our Trumpish Troubles
Let’s all give a little cheer
That a man may be a Martian
And for that I volunteer
Picture me, a rhyming writer
With my wife, amanuensis
In a little orange stucco
On the Valle Marinensis
I just chatted with a realtor
He might have been a faker
But he offered me a parcel there
At 15 cents an acre.
I’ll compose a weekly poem
That I’ll write for Hugh and me
In a quiet little suburb
Like Tarzana used to be
I can finally read Principia
And other light Newtonia
And on weekends see the temples
And the big face at Cydonia
Summers at the polar ice caps
Winter in a crater
Just put me in a rocket ship
And friend, I’ll see you later
I know the trip is dangerous
I grok the guys who warn ya’
But I see it as my way
Of getting out of California
