Damn The Tall People

damn the tall people.
damn the men
but also,
all the women.
damn them
for their irresistibly
angular
shoulder blades
karate-chopping
through the backs
of their T-shirts.
damn them
for the way they rise up
from this hard,
lowly earth
and leave me here,
below the glory.
damn them
for their cocktail
of power and vulnerability
which intoxicates me
with optimism
and desire.
damn them
for the way their
clothes hang
and the way they
glide
or gallop
at twice my
little-legged speed.
damn them
for standing in line
at the coffee shop
or in the corner
of the bar,
riding
my peripheral vision
like it was the jet stream
damn them
for causing me
to jerk my head around,
hoping—
only to find
it's not him,
but some other
impossibly tall human
whose hip bones
I could cradle in my palms
if only he—
or she—
would let me.
damn the tall people,
for what they start in me,
and never finish.
damn the tall people.
damn. them. all.