Measure With Pleasure

When we were kids, mama measured our height The youngest of three, I was always so slight Those notches still stand on the old house wall The lowest was mine at just three feet tall My brother – six feet; typical for men But, oh, how I envied my sister back then Her highest measure was five feet four At five-three I was closer to the floor But measure for measure the tables turned Last time I saw her, she seemed quite concerned Eleven years older, Bobbie’s shrinking And so it is she who has wishful thinking For I’m now three inches taller than she She scowled while complaining, “How can this be?” Perhaps it’s her diet – more likely her age I can’t bring up height without risking her rage *Written May 17, 2014