We’d both just assume that the other,
Wasn’t far behind, like a Siamese twin brother,
And so we wouldn’t fret, we wouldn’t worry,
After all, to catch up, there was no hurry.
After passing Jupiter one more time,
Gazing at it’s colorful stripes sublime,
Icy the Ice Queen would need some air,
She’d need a break, which was only fair.
She’d wonder out onto the left wing,
Of our grandiose ship full of doggy bling.
There she’d sit and look at the stars,
As we’d travel further away from Mars.
Immanuel noticed her leave the room,
And after giving his hair a plume,
He’d follow her out the door,
And walk 10 feet, plus a bit more,
Before sitting down next to her,
And politely, a conversation he’d stir:
"I certainly hope I’m not intruding,
And I don’t mean to cause any brooding.
But I couldn’t help but notice you,
That you left the group, the crew.
And, well, I hope everything’s all right,
I hope you’re feeling well on this night."
“Hey, you,” would respond Icy,
“That’s, like, so sweet, even spicy!
But I’m totally OK–I’m just chillin’,
Come, sit with me–that is, if you’re willin’.”
“My lady, it would be a pleasure,
It would be an honor and a treasure,”
Would say Immanuel, putting on the charm,
And sitting down, arm pressed against arm,
"For on such a clear night such as this,
And with so much time to just remiss,
There is so much to talk about–
Anything–nothing should we flout.
So why don’t you pick a topic–
Hugely significant or microscopic–
From the deepest mysteries of nature,
to the banalities of agriculture."
"Well, I do like the stars,
I kinda wish I had binoculars,
That way, I could, like, see what they are,
Suns, planets, or alien space ships afar.
Oh, they’re, like, so pretty and bright,
Like sparkling diamonds in the night.
I wish I had wings, you know,
So I could fly amongst them so."
"Your curiosity is enchanting, my dear,
Your lust for knowledge is very clear,
But if you want to explore,
You’ll need something more–
More powerful than binoculars, that is to say;
I recommend a telescope–that is, if I may.
Why, did you know, by Galileo it was invented?
In his genius mind, the idea had fermented.
Along with a theory of relativity,
Though not Einstein’s–that’s silly.
Einstein was several years ahead of him;
He made Galileo’s theory look rather slim–"
“Umm, you’re, like, totally missing the point, dude,”
Interrupted the Ice Queen, trying not to be rude,
"I think it’s, like, totally rad,
That this science stuff makes you glad,
But I, like, don’t even know those guys–
Well, I heard of Einstein; I heard he’s very wise,
And Galileo rings a bell–isn’t he a science guy,
Who, according to you, looked up at the sky?
But I, like, think that’s boring–no offense–
I’m just totally stunned by how awesome a sense,
I get when I gaze into the sky,
It inspires questions like ‘why?’
‘Why,’ for example, ‘Do the stars twinkle?’
They’re like pixie dust that I might sprinkle,
On cupcakes or cookies, or chocolate pudding pie,
But why, Immanuel? I’m always asking why?
And how far away are they, anyhow?
And though they seem fixed right now,
Can they move? Or were they always there?
Pinned to the night sky without a care?
I’m sure those science guys figured it out,
About your knowledge of them, I have no doubt,
But I don’t really care for a history lesson;
To find the answers would be the real blessin’."
“But of course,” Immanuel would respond,
"How silly to think that you would be fond,
Of old geezers like Galileo and Einstein.
If its answers you seek, that would be fine.
Those stars, my dear, are burning balls of gas,
A billion and some years would have to pass,
Even if we traveled at the speed of light,
To get to them in a long and boring flight.
That’s why they seem so small,
Smaller even than a ping-pong ball.
They’re just that far away,
But make no mistake, not on this day,
For they’re really no different than our Sun,
Hot, bright, and weighing well over a ton.
You ask if they move–well, they do!
Oh, you can’t see it–this might be true.
But you wait a couple centuries or so,
And then for sure you’ll know,
That a few of them have indeed shifted,
A few inches would they have been lifted.
It seems so slow, I understand,
But, oh, how much space does expand–
This great big universe that we live in,
Is so vast, our knowledge of it so thin,
That what seems to us so slow,
Is a thousand times faster than we know.
For did you know, my dear,
We travel 150 million km per year?
That’s the distance the Earth travels,
Around the Sun when another year unravels.
Now that’s fast, wouldn’t you say?
Yet the stars by night, and the Sun by day,
Seem fixed in the sky, perfectly still,
As though we’re not moving, our speed nil.
Such are the wonders of our cosmos so great,
At least, according to my knowledge to date."
"Well, that’s, like, really cool, Immanuel.
So each star isn’t like a little granule?
They’re each, like, totally humongous?
Huger than a big red double-Decker bus?
I never knew that. I totally had no clue.
You see, Immanuel, what you can do,
When you, like, inspire my imagination,
How it totally fills me with elation?
That’s the stuff that inspires me,
That’s what sets my imagination free.
Almost as though my soul were to fly,
Through this awesome and bodacious astral sky.
I would travel past our Sun and to the stars.
I would see if other planets exist, like Mars.
Planets that orbit these other stars, as you say,
These huge burning balls of gas that give us day.
I’d visit these other planets, cousins to Mars and Earth,
I’d meet with other people, and for what it’s worth,
Their kings and queens–and presidents too.
Oh, it would be exciting and all so new!
You see, Immanuel, that’s why I got into politics.
I get to go to parties, mingle and mix.
Some say I just never grew out of high school,
That I never studied much–as a rule,
And though I can’t deny–because it’s true–
I never could get into math, and science too,
I did study–ardently, to the bone–
I studied 'til I made it to the thrown.
I studied people, I studied how they interact,
I figured out how boys and girls attract,
I learned how to form alliances, to make friends,
To be positive, and about the message that sends.
That’s what I’m good at, you know,
It’s a talent that rids me of woe,
It’s what brought me political success,
Which helped back when I was a princess."
“Indeed,” Immanuel would say with soft-spoken voice,
"I can tell–for you would be my first choice–
Anyone’s–should it come to a decision,
Made with absolute care and precision,
Of who I’d want to lead this great big world,
For if ever into war or peace we were hurled,
I’d trust you, above any other person,
For only then would things never worsen."
“Immanuel,” Icy would say, "You are sweet,
And I’ll tell you a secret, a little treat:
If I ever needed an adviser, It’d certainly be you–
You could be my muse, my one-man inspiration crew.
I’ll ask you questions, and you’ll enlighten my world,
With you by my side, all mysteries will be unfurled.
I’ll use your wisdom only for good, I swear,
And I’ll reward you justly, which is only fair."
“My lady, the pleasure would be mine,
To act in your service would be divine.
You may come to me with any question,
Concern or problem; I’ll give my suggestion.”
Then on his cheek, Icy would kiss him,
And say “you’re a darling,” just on a whim.
Immanuel would blush, and chuckled a little,
And would feel warm right in his middle.
But then: “Aw, you guys suck!”
Would say a voice, ruining their luck,
“Gits youselves a room, don’ make me sick!
That lovy-dovy stuff is jus’ ick!”
They’d both look toward the ship.
Startled, Immanuel would clasp Icy’s hip.
There seemed to be an apple,
Moldy brown with a bit of dapple.
The voice would seem to come from there.
And protruding from the apple would be a hair.
At least, it’d look like a hair at first,
But a closer look would reveal something worse.
It would be a worm, slimy and pink,
With a scowl that’d make you shrink,
From fear of its grumpy demeanor,
For you would too if you’d seen 'er.
"This is mushy-wushy poop–
It is!–I’m givin’ you de scoop,
So snap outa it you 2,
Kisses make me grumpy, it’s true.
Say–whewe de heck am I?
A set a’ Martian teeff being nigh,
Is the last ting I seems to recalls,
Since retreatin’ into my apple walls.
It waz a close call, dat’s fo suwe.
Da rest iz aw’ jus’ a bluwr.
Ya know–I tink I must’a fainted,
And ‘cause a’ dat, my memowy’s tainted.
But whewe da heck am I?
I appeaw to be way up high,
In outa space dat is–on a ship!
Goin’ fow an unexpected space twip!
Who ordewed dis? Cewtenly not me!
My home of Maws I nevew wanted to flee!
So take me back wight now–I command you!
In dis festewing apple, don’t make me stew."
“I’m afraid, Mr. Worm,” Immanuel would say,
“Returning to Mars is not an option today.
I tell you this with sincere and heartfelt regret,
For we’re headed away from Mars–please don’t fret.”
“Now, wait a minute Immanuel,” Icy would retort,
"That, like, depends, in a manner of sort:
I mean, don’t you think, Immanuel my friend,
That Mr. and Mrs. Martian would tend,
To putting Mars back into place?
On the move, wouldn’t they be, through space?
Back to the place where Mars should belong,
Which is where we’ve been headed all along?"
“Why, yes, my dear–how clever you are,”
Would say Immanuel lighting up like a star,
“So then, Mr. Worm, we may get you home yet.
We’ll make a pit stop when, to Mars, we get.”
“And how long will dat take? Yeas?
By den, I’ll pwabably gwow ears!
Nah, jus’ pick me up an’ chuck me,
Pwease, like a bottle into da sea.”
“Like, dude, you want us to chuck you?”
Icy would question his intentions true,
“Like, launch you forward, like a throw?
Why? To make you go, like, less slow?”
"Yea, gib me a bit mo’ momentum or someth’n,
Some oomph–heck, it’s betta’ dan noth’n.
Jus’ pick me up, wind yea’ arms back,
And Swing foward wit’ yo elbows slack.
Oh, and remembe to release you grip,
Oderwise, I ain’t leavin’ dis snail-paced trip.
If you could do dat for me.
You can weturn to yo’ kissy-kissy."
“Well, I suppose it’s worth a shot,”
Would conclude Immanuel, hesitating not,
“If that’s really what you want,
I’ll do it–it’ll be like a space jaunt.”
So Immanuel would scoop up the apple,
And like tying himself to a rappel,
Mr. Worm would sink into his hole,
Inside the apple, like a mole.
Immanuel would throw back his right arm,
And with the left, keep Icy away from harm.
Then for practice, he’d count to three,
Before setting Mr. Worm and his apple free.
“One for the money, two for the show,
Three to get ready, and four… to… go!”
And as Immanuel would utter those last words,
Mr. Worm would be sent flying like the birds.
“Well, I’m getting chilly. How 'bout you?”
Immanuel would ask, “Shall we return to the crew?”
“Why, yes,” Icy would answer, “It is rather cold,
Space tends to be like that, or so I’m told.”
“Yes,” Immanuel would agree, “minus 270.45 degrees,
To be exact–pretty cold, thus the knocking of my knees.”
“Oh,” Icy would reply, “you space guy you,
You’re such a science nerd, it’s true.”