-At "Joe’s Slo-Burger"-

Ordering from the diner's menu I'll choose the Number 1,—

The "Burger n' Fries Combo Plate."

Biding my time at the counter, it's Neptune on my mind

As the late-night's planet of choice.

A wet, heavy snow is falling in mid December

But the diner's a pressure-cooker, sweltering and crowded.
The late-night compliment of besieged waitresses
Negotiate the din of madness weaving between the density
Of the barroom's recently evacuated, the recovering stumblebums,

The elder regulars ordering their "usuals" as if presenting
A badge of distinction, the tightly-packed waiting-line of the hopeful

At the entrance with nowhere to go, unceremoniously ignored
And the gloating, self-absorbed occupiers of rare booths,–– the scent
Of burning meat coalescing with the stench of slush dissolving on human hair...

Neptune's an ice-giant and nobody lives there.

But what a beauty it is!

Say the name Neptune as you romance the sight of it.

Joe knows how I like ‘em — burned-up, outside and inside,

But not my planets.

I want my planets cold, distant and mysterious.

Tonight I'll drop into Neptune, poke around its frozen breath of methane,

Laced with ammonia, its strike of atmosphere formed of more toxicities

Than mere hydrogen; scary sounding names written in cloaks of code

From the university laboratories. 

But the slab-of-a-puck Joe’s flipping at the grill sizzles like Mercury.

Neptune’s hard-hearted; masked in seduction, it’ll stick its tongue of acids

Into your throat soon as look at you.

Drop a coin to hear the juke drone Waits:

"Burgers n’ fries and what kind of pies?"

It’s Powder-blue.

Better stay away.

Burn that baby down, Joe!—  "Myrtle! You're up"!