Tall

The taller I get, seems the less I recall
Of the faces of people I met while still small.
Their hair–well, the color, if not quite the style–
I still can describe, but the shape of their smile?
The number of freckles across their nosebridge?
Unless it’s enormous, their nose? Not a smidge.
If women are–how can I say this with tact?–
Possessed of, um, large tracts of land…okay, stacked,
That will make an impression. I’m not being rude
(Not on purpose); it’s just that, unless they protrude
From the torso much more than the normal extent
I have no hope of seeing them. That’s all I meant.
I miss having face-to-face meetings. I get
Very few opportunities to tête-à-tête
Because rarely–so rarely–have other folk felt
Less than totally weird speaking into my belt.
The morning is coming, and soon, I’ll awaken
So tall that my faith in reality’s shaken.
How come I’m the one with his head in the air
While the rest of humanity’s crawling down there?
Do they even see me as human these days?
I’ve broken the mold, now, in so many ways
That I– wait, not in “so many ways.” Only one!
I got tall! That was all. And, at first, it was fun.
I could reach things up high that I couldn’t before…
Then the day came I no longer fit through the door,
And I had to move out to the carport, and then
To the yard, which was hard, ’cause I didn’t know when
All the growing would stop, and I had to make clothes
Out of bed sheets and blankets, and then even those
Were too small, so my pants shrunk to shorts, then a thong…
And that’s when I figured out something was wrong.
I covered my privates with one giant palm
And I strode to the camping store, naked but calm,
And I bought all their tarps, tents and heavyweight twine
And I sewed my own clothes. They’re not great, but they’re mine.
If you’re in the neighborhood, please, look me up!
(Or, look up me.) Like coffee? I’ll make you a cup
And pretend I can hear what you say to my waist
(If I’m sitting). We’ll script it! First, mention the taste
Of the brew, then remark on the weather. I’ll ask
If you’ve finished “that thing at work”; make up a task
You can talk about–really, it won’t matter much
‘Cause I’m not gonna hear you. I’m so out of touch
With the world of normal-sized people, it’s sad…
But don’t pity me, please! That would make me feel bad.
I’d just like to know that some people still care
About tall-ies like me.
It ain’t great, being rare.