A poem by Shelly Reuben.

Good Grief! Good Grief! I’m getting short.

A process I’d like to abort.

This attribute of getting old

When I was young, I was not told.

The shoes I wear must all be flat.

Foreshortened, now, is where I’m at.

For when a high-heeled shoe I choose

My balance I am apt to lose.

But glamour is a thing I love…

Not being dwarfed from up above!

Long of leg and tall of height

Would happily reverse my plight.

A goddess, yes. All tall and thin

Is what I really should have been.

But honestly, in the “before”

I’d shrunk, I only was five-four.

I think that we can all agree

There never should be less of me.

If one can fertilize a rose

To make sure that the flower grows,

Then why, oh why, cannot there be

A fertilizer made for me?

A fungus, phial, or magic ball

That rubbed or swallowed makes me tall?

Since now … Since now … On tippy toe,

I stand, as I no longer grow.

Or rather (this is so perverse),

I’m growing still. But in reverse!

Copyright © Shelly Reuben, 2025. Shelly Reuben’s books have been nominated for Edgar, Prometheus, and Falcon awards. For more about her writing, vibasit www.shellyreuben.com