Love and the Deli Counter

by Jill McDonough

	
Love and the Deli Counter by Jill McDonough
 

At my Stop & Shop the ladies at the deli counter 
give us free slices of meat so we can talk about
how thin we want it. Everyone wants it thinner
but me. A woman asks for four slices shaved
ham. She can have anything she wants. I want
two pounds of turkey, sliced thick. I never
got the thin slice thing; it’s hard to pick up. It tears.
It takes the ladies longer to cut it up. Here’s what 
I hate: inconveniencing ladies. One of the deli ladies 
tells me the provolone piccante smells like feet and I 
say Way to sell it! I make her coworker laugh, 
which is all I want from a trip to the Stop & Shop.
She and I keep looking at each other, nodding as if
we are listening seriously while foot-taste cheese
lady makes her case; the foot taste is a good thing!
Then she wants to talk about not wearing socks
as a kid, getting in trouble with her mom. I love
them both. I am eating a free slice of turkey, thanking
them, telling another lady in the store I love the blue 
and yellow grosgrain ribbon down her jeans’ seams,
telling another I love your boots. There are no men
in the store. Saturday afternoon; we stroll the aisles,
kind to each other. Some days Boston is just a bunch
of women calling out to each other I LOVE YOUR DRESS!
We eat free turkey, help each other find the sour cream.
The checkout girl’s name tag says Love. Love tells me
her mom called her love so much she just changed it.
I love it, love my Stop & Shop, her name, love
when people, strangers, call me love or lovie. At the gym
Christine says Hello, love until she learns my name; 
a shame. At the deli counter, a woman dries her hands,
smiles at me, says and what can I get you, my love?