This poem stems from my frustration at all the pink tat marketed to girls. Like a few of my poems, this one should really be set to music. And I do of course realise that you can’t actually watch Higg bosons do anything. That’s what’s called poetic licence, and is probably why I’m not a scientist.
I don’t want pink dresses for little princesses
Or dollies with curls I can comb,
And don’t give me make-up; I’m not going to take up
The habit of lipstick at home.
Sparkles and glitter will make me quite bitter.
A pony? I won’t be a rider.
But please I’ll be good, and I’ll do as I should,
If you get me a Hadron Collider.
It could be a small one, a sit-by-my-wall one,
That fits near my bed in my room,
I could sit there all day if you let the thing stay
And I’d watch the Higgs Boson go zoom.
I’d write up my theories, and maybe some queries,
My knowledge would quickly grow wider,
So please could you buy one, I would love to try one,
Yes, get me a Hadron Collider.