That is he,
the tallest one
who takes his shoes off
to walk across the grass.
He told me once about tallness:
it’s an arbitrary thing;
sometimes you are and sometimes you’re not.
I told the others about tallness
and they laughed,
each one round the table.
So I left them
and went and lay on my father’s big bed,
putting my legs in the sunshine,
hummed songs to myself.