By Erik Moshe
Mastered monsoons, his hair matted down with apricot gloop
He damn near tried to wear a black top hat on an astronaut’s suit
Every rocket mount had locked routes, cordless but the coordinates varied
The journey into dead space: it was more than just a mortuary
Sir William had a pair of great gonads, he’d elate both hands
Gripping the steel handles of a grand old orrery chamber; a claymore man
The first 18th century pioneer of the United States Space Program
In a time when slaves roamed lands and men held flaked gold pans
“My fellow Americans, the time has come to reach into the universe,”
But that rally was invaded as angry students surged
Should’ve been more concerned about the working unions first
Focused on education, economic stability and crumb cake
President Taft distinctly felt Orion’s belt squeezin around his plump waist
Experiments with propulsion beneath the White House proceeded
Ejected white engine fluid in the oval office
while he relieved the dry mouth of his seamstress
Why frown at this sequence? Ancient astronauts were said to exist
Replace Maya with the red, white and blue interstellar eclipse
Technology took giant leaps and bounds – he’d release a fleet of borgs
Before Woodrow Wilson was even born & briefcases breached the norm
“I’d like a simple two seater if possible. No massive orbital probes”
Was his request, at the behest of a set of questioned astrological codes
First William complained about the lack of leather seats
Taxed the Cherokees, raised funds to brave the skies – metallic dragon elegy
He trained his mind for space, in time began to relax in therapy
And just to prevent being lonely in the milky way, he brought Captain Bethany
The Red Planet glinted in his eyes like he had a sinister purpose
envisioned the searches of foreign planets, was it more than he could manage?
After all, he and his female companion were diminutive earthlings –
NASA was later formed from his discoveries, a swollen sultan of his culture
He was out for the liquid of the stars, gemstones within the oceans of Europa
Suddenly, his usually stoic expression became grave,
Absolutely sure he’d make it out of that hazardous environment
attempted to engage starboard, close the hatch and grip an iron disk
but it turned out Mr. Taft was too fat to fit inside of it…
Clutching at Straws 