Like a monstrous diving platform
Or a reverse mine – of the sky
They go up there incrementally,
Pausing on each platform,
Leaning over, their yellow jackets billowing
Like failed parachutes
Are their ears permanently popped?
How many rungs up does the temperature drop?
And in their safe cabins, do they have a flask of whiskey
Which they sip, with their left hand controlling
Viewing their ant kingdom
From their beginners' space ship
And do their tough wives at home on earth
Despair over their husbands'un-intellectual work
And chose crossword puzzles to even out the gap
Between their kitchen bar stools
And their husbands' spacemen thrones?