Finally caught up!
tis the season to be called a fat bitch.
this time last year was the first.
i remember because i wrote a poem about it,
and because it was the first.
a little boy in a hulking man’s frame
hocked his temper tantrum across the counter
because i did not pause the person speaking
on the phone tell him to have a good day,
because i was busy and he needed all the attention,
because he could.
this week a woman storms in all brash,
all throw the food over the counter making mess,
all demand my manager look at her when she’s speaking,
i snort at her ridiculous and she turns her privileged sneer my way,
asks if i’m laughing at her,
i am, but I don’t tell her so,
i also don’t tell her she’s as big as i am.
both of these people (and I use that term loosely)
so full of rage, so indignant, are in the wrong.
this time last year i was a spill of tears,
a kind woman waited patiently for me
to take several calming breaths,
to wipe away the wet,
she thought i was sad or hurt but i wasn’t;
i was angry and crying is a side effect.
this week i shrugged, as if to say i know,
as if to say i don’t care,
i have lived through this season once before.
i know what the harvest brings.