Interplanetary Incident

It was a comedy, a farce

for everyone to see:

Illegal aliens from Mars

had landed in D.C.

They zoomed in riding something red,

a curvy tour de force—

the Tesla Musk had overhead

once flung away from Earth.

They parked it near the Mall and then

(avoiding meter fines),

they strolled to Sixteen Hundred Penn,

all dressed in gleaming spines.

They said, “We’ve come to meet the czar,

the Master of the Sky—

the Sage who launched this holy car,

the mighty Tesla guy.”

The guards were tense. The rifles aimed.

The press began to scream.

But Secret Service just proclaimed:

“Another D.C. dream.”

Still—what to do? Musk’s gone for real.

Whom should the Martians greet?

Not POTUS—he might strike a deal,

or tweet things on repeat…

They summoned Joe with utmost care.

The Martians bowed and beamed.

“Is this Lord Elon? He looks square.

And smells of old ice cream.”

“I think,” said Joe, “you’re lookin’ for

some fella in L.A.

He’s rich, and kinda techy—sure,

but not the boss today.”

They argued through a glowing fish

while sniffing Diet Coke.

“We bear for Musk a Martian wish—

a dream of Tesla yoke.”

The President just smiled and waved

while aides began to sweat.

“They’re peaceful, right?” “They seem well-shaved.”

“Well… odd is safe, I bet.”

A conference call was swiftly planned.

They Zoomed in Mr. Musk.

The Martians gave a claw salute

and offered him a tusk.

“We’re here to pledge allegiance true—

the Tesla was our ark.

Its orbit sang, and out it flew,

a techno Noah’s spark.”

But Elon, in reflective shades,

just gave a stony laugh.

“I launched it just to dodge some trades—

and one-up Bezos’ craft.”

The Martians blinked. “You mean… a bet?

No message for our kind?”

“Of course not, guys—but no regret.

You caught me in my prime.

I start new cults, and fund weird things,

and play with chips and brains—

but ruling Earth or Martian rings?

Too much accounting pains.”

So back they went, confused, betrayed,

but left their Tesla car—

a gift, they said, for June parade:

the strangest float, by far.

And now it sits, its parking lapsed—

but who will get it towed?

A monument to dreams collapsed

upon the endless road.