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They can't wait to leave behind
the boredom of high-priced cars, 150-foot yachts,
and palatial estates with tennis courts
and private golf courses -
sooo yesterday.
To keep up with the Jones's
billionaires nowadays, head to outer space,
exit the planet on phallic rockets
(one called Virgin for heaven's sake)
'cause this crowded sphere can no longer contain
their magnificent cosmic egos -
one small step for a man
one giant leap for hubris
at Mach speeds.
When they cross the Karman line,
break free of the earthbound force
holding you and me here,
they will look down at us
(which is actually the point)
through an atmospheric haze,
unstrap themselves from their capsule seats
and float upside down
giddy as kindergarten children
flouting the class rules.
After a few minutes, parachutes deployed,
they will land safely
in the desert
and hold a press conference
on the spot.
They will thank the hyper-educated folks
who made it possible, say that today
they realized a childhood dream, tout
the future of space travel for everyone,
and declare they've been changed personally
forever,
while the rest of us ponder
what if anything
has been learned.
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