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Rated: E · Poetry · Sci-fi · #2204574
Martian weather causes a change in plans.
Beautiful day, orange sky, dim sun
one hundred forty seven million
miles away…thin air, this Martian
atmosphere.  Yet the Face awaits,
that Cydonia Face, that famous
Face on Mars, where we
are going.

But hark!  What ping of sand
on our Deep Space Habitat
I hear!  Thou art alarming…
Could it be the beginning of a
Martian dust storm?  If so, then
we need to change our plans, 

and thus weather-woman Alex
checks Doppler radar, and
sure enough a hunk-a-hunk-a
Martian storm is on the way.     

Alas, I see a tear in her eye,
I see a drained, white Anglo-
Saxon protestant countenance,
as if Alex lost the will to rover.   

I am so sorry, Alex, there will
be no roving today on Mars—
dangerous sand demands
we hunker down! 

Bill, red-faced, brow furrowed
as if the Face itself karate-chopped
his nape, and his handlebar mustache
aquiver, squeezes a lemon on his
white fish entree, much too
close to his Apple…
and the mouse.
Martian mess.



33 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
11-2-19
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2204574