thin sliced please

the guy behind the deli
counter with the hair net
and blue smock
leans over
with a slice
of Virginia baked ham
offering it to you.
you've already made him
go in back for a new rump
of boar's head ham,
not the store brand.
he rattles the brown tissue
paper that it lies
on, and says, here take
it. you say no. but that's
good. that's fine.
no, he says,
here, it's for you now.
take it, taste it. I cut
it for you.
you refuse, you hold
your ground, which makes
him angry, throwing off
the weight of the half
pound that he's already cut.
he restamps the package,
hands it to, reaching
awkwardly over the counter
between jars of pickles
and olives. he yells
cheese? perhaps a nice waldorf
salad to go with that?
no thanks, i'm good you say,
leaving with your ham.