Being a woman, it took a lot of courage
The kind that clenches your abdomen
Like menstruation,
And then it was only once, not monthly.
I once asked a cosmologist
about his poetic tendencies, I thought I caught
a glimmer, it was in fact, a pungent reaction.
The mere concept was rejected as any preposterous old electron
Would be out of line. Needless to say, the hypothesis was
Brushed off like the free radical
I was standing there, circling him
And trying to get in-closer.
I was the chicken laying an egg,
Peeking inside his paradox.
In hindsight, it was foolish,
Asking an astrophysicist, a theoretical one, anyway
About his propensity with words, metaphorically,
In lieu of his numerical potency,
Silly me, little lady.
Considering I am entitled to (k)no(w) facts,
In my female tone, I displayed
A type of indiscretion, often a woman’s way
Of adding verbs to scientific theory.
Photo credited to National Photo Company; c. 1919, Restored by Adam Cuerden [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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