Tallest Woman on 23rd Street - Nov. 05

I wish I was the tallest woman on 23rd Street.  I want to be so tall that I could stand at the edge of the East River and look west down the congested two way past Park Avenue, past the Flat Iron Building, past the YMCA, past the piers looking west and farther west until all that is too far away eases into an amorphic blur.  If I were that tall, I could stand at 6th Ave and tab how man cars were coming from Canal Street.  I could tell the people below when it was the best time to cross, even if that thimble sized LED man doesn't agree.  If I was the tallest woman on 23rd Street,  I would take a super bouncy ball and make it bounce across the Hudson River.  I'd do downward facing dog so that traffic could pass under me, and I would let the smallest kid in every kindergarten class in Manhattan sit on my shoulder.  I would use my height for good, and not for, the cliched, evil.

But I can't lie, I want to be so tall because I'm that selfish.  Because if I was the tallest woman on 23rd Street, I wouldn't be cut off by reckless pedestrians.  I wouldn't have smoke blown in my face by careless addicts.  I wouldn't hear 'fuck' every 6th step.  I wouldn't watch a commuter, a jogger, an eater, a maintenance man throw their soiled napkins on the sidewalk.  I wouldn't smell the twitching neglect of homelessness and I wouldn't feel like the complexity of 23rd Street was above my attention.  I wish I was the tallest woman on 23rd Street because I'd rest my head on a building on the south side of the street and drape my legs of a building on the north side, put my hands behind my head and let the sunrise frantically turn to mid-day, turn to twilight, turn to midnight, all over my gigantic body.