Whirl of Food Processor and I, In Space

I was preparing a blue-berry cake for supper, Foaming it saw some spinning rings on the syrupy mixture It reminded me of the sequence of cosmos; As the planets spin on their ever homely compass The sugar, flour, soda and the eggs Circling still inside my food processor. I ogle and solicitously imagine, If I’m thrown away at space with such a whirl, Shall I swivel in the infinity? Or-shall I be smashed; otherwise, be crushed by the aliens? The space scientist would better answer it, My data is limited, to me, all these are worthless, I never know; I just know how to mingle the mixture of a cake, I’m a poor mixture machine operator.