At the Stop and Shop I joke with the girl helping me
find the star anise that it looks like someone left her
a chicken bone on the shelf. Oh, isn’t that nice, she laughs.
They wanted you to have a fun surprise, I tell her, tell
the checkout lady I love her turquoise sparkle nails,
the gallery assistant I love his sweater, it makes him look
like a fuzzy baby bee. Have a good day we all call
to each other: have a good one, a good weekend, good night.
In the endless self-service kiosk line at the post office before
Christmas I tell everyone ahead of me who tries to open
the self-service kiosk drop-off box that it is full. They have
to walk their packages over to the counter, enormous stacks
toppling on the far right. Now you know, too. The third time
I tell someone and they don’t thank me, the lady cop in line
with me just shakes her head. They could at least say thank you.
When she says this the last guy says thank you. I say no problem.
When he’s gone me and the lady cop crack up. I live for this
shit. Do you think he heard me? the lady cop asks. He 100%
heard you, I tell her. And you are doing the lord’s work. Later
after the wine store and the library I see her and her partner
by their cop car and she says Hey! You following me? And I
yell Of course I’m fucking following you you’re the nicest
lady cop in town! She is delighted, her partner’s confused;
TELL HIM! she laughs. You’re an angel of holiday politeness;
I’m sticking with you, I tell her, love this so much, being able
to walk through the world making people briefly happy, me
here with them but also here inside what this dumb grief
is making, purpose built for all this ache and love and awe.
—Jill McDonough
Jill McDonough is the winner of three Pushcart Prizes. She teaches in the MFA program at UMass-Boston.
