Photo: CERN
by Brett Rutherford
Although I am nothing, really,
ten thousand aspiring
physicists have published papers
claiming some intimate knowledge
of my attributes.
If some of these papers
are pasted together
from other papers,
and my name dropped in
at random to secure fame
and instant promotion,
do not be surprised.
I join the ranks of ether,
orgone, and phlogiston.
My name is dropped
with finality, to explain
anything whatever
at a cocktail party.
String Theory?
How “yesterday!”
No matter how
you squint, or turn
the pages of formulas
that claim to prove me,
I am not there at all.
I soon expect
to become an ingredient
in food supplements,
and fill black stones
in costume jewelry.
Homeopathic labels
will list me as key
to infinite dilution.
Massless,
weightless,
colorless,
spinless,
of no particular
political party,
uninterested
in evolution or progress,
I am nonetheless
on everyone’s lips.
I may be the God particle,
but I do not attend Mass.
Without an altar
on any planet,
I am more famous
than Jesus
or the Beatles, already.
Get with it, morons!
On your knees, fools!
The Boson cometh!
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