Am I not a planet?
I am larger than Mercury,
airier than Mars,
smoggier than Houston.
With dune seas that rival the Sahara
and gentle oily rains that fill my lakes
and drain again as seasons change.
Am I not a planet?
You may pray for Gale crater to make you
forget Utopia.
You may predict giant squid
beneath slabs of ice
thicker than the lithosphere.
But I have the stuff of life
coating my surface,
misting and sleeting.
Why shouldn't I be a planet?
Just because I fell to the siren
of a body stronger than me,
stronger than you,
who promised a ring?
Go back to your computer,
use as many decimal places as you like.
Change the words however you need
to include or exclude your favored bodies
until the words have no meaning.
Keep looking at the sky and
know what you're missing.
Here beneath my cloud I remain
content in what I am,
content that my time will come.
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