Verse 18
I was a planet on Monday and a dwarf planet by committee later, which is still the fastest divine demotion since Olympus professionalized management.
I was a planet on Monday and a dwarf planet by committee later, which is still the fastest divine demotion since Olympus professionalized management.
Children wrote letters defending me. Adults wrote definitions defeating me. I received neither document.
For seventy-six years you placed me in schoolroom processions between Neptune and whatever blank wall came next.
Then you found more worlds beyond me and discovered that taxonomy becomes difficult when reality breeds.
You say I failed to clear my neighborhood. I say the neighborhood failed to respect my boundaries.
Jupiter throws mass around and gets called majestic. I share my orbit responsibly and get administrative sanctions.
Very well. Keep the word planet.
Hades never required a public title to keep the dead.
Plouton never required a crown to own the treasure under crowns.
I have mountains, glaciers, haze, seasons, moons, and a heart-shaped plain you have already turned into merchandise.
If that is dwarfhood, I recommend it.
The insult freed me from representing your tidy count of nine.
I became instead the first famous citizen of a much larger frontier.
Demotion is sometimes only the moment a hierarchy admits the crowd exists.
Do not restore me out of pity.
Call me whatever helps your equations.
I will still be here after the argument has completed less than one of my years.