display pickles

just a half a pound
of baked ham, i tell the girl
behind
the counter.
i can see the top of her
curly head
which is covered in a black
net
that looks like it might come
in handy
when catching fish.
she has a scar on her forehead
which makes me wonder
if it's related to cutting deli meat.
thin sliced, she says, or
thick?
regular, i tell her.
boar's head, or the other
brand.
whatever i tell her,
boar's head.
i peruse the blocks of cheese
behind the glass
and spot a fly that can't get out.
he keeps landing
on the cheddar, which i like.
i decide not get the cheese.
i see her grab a chunk
of ham and position it on
the metal slicer. pushing the rump
with a shove of her hand.
she slices off a thin
piece, puts it on sheet of paper
and leans
over to hand it to me.
no thanks, i tell her.
she shrugs then cuts the ham.
moving
the blade across the pink slab
of meat,
she wraps it up, puts a stamp
on it and hands it to me.
coleslaw? she says.
Cheese? what about some pickles?
what kind of pickles?
well, we have dill, we have
sweet gherkins, butter pickles.
what about those in that jar,
those giant pickles that look
like cucumbers?
oh, those aren't for sale,
those are for display only.
oh, okay. then i'm good.