Height

Height

Marcus Aardvark is walking down the street (hey hey) when he happens upon a black labrador who is clearly not a black labrador. He scratches the alleged dog (yeh yeh) behind the ears. The labrador wags its tail so forcefully (zop zop) that it whips up a small cyclone. When the dust clears (wap wap), Marcus finds that he is standing before an extremely tall woman. Her hair brushes a telephone line (swip swip) and she gives him a shy smile.

Thank you.

I’m sorry – for what?

I was under an enchantment.

I knew it!

After three hundred and thirty three people made fun of me, the neighborhood witch decided that I should become something else for a while.

Seems like a bit of an overreaction. But why did they make fun of you?

She ducks a low-flying plane.

Can’t you see? I’m a freak!

Marcus eyes her up and up. You are no freak, honey. You are fantastic.

She smiles. Marcus puts on a pair of sunglasses.

Would you kiss me? she says.

Fortunately, Marcus is a roofer. He runs to his truck for a ladder, props it against her chin and clambers up to give her a chaste peck. On his way down, he picks an orange from an apple tree.

Oh come now, she says. You can do better than that.

Marcus pats her on the ankle.

What you need is a thorough worshipping. Carry me to that green house.

The woman stretches out in the living room. Her head sticks out the window. Marcus removes her clothing, a process that takes two days. He wraps his feet in oil-soaked rags

and skates across her belly. The woman giggles. Marcus sets his sights on the twin hills to the west and begins his journey.

Marcus has not been seen for three weeks. His friends are concerned, but you and I are not.

From Michael J. Vaughn: Collected Poems

Notes: I suppose this was inspired by the constant chatter about size-ism among women. I suppose we all feel like freaks in one way or another.