Saturday I dropped a jar of pickles in the Dollar Store.
(Breakage in isle whatever).
High School girl at the register was very nice about it,
(She smiled and told me old people drop shit all the time).
To make up for the mess I bought three jars
Quickly summoned a young lout carried them to my car,
(To insure I didn’t drop these too).
I wanted to give tip him, but only had two twenties,
so I shook his big doughy hand instead.
(The boy looked at me like I was a fucking man from Mars).
Back home, back where we came from originally, the work for “trouble” has both a masculine and feminine form. The literal translation would probably be “unravel”, but trouble is what it means. These days the masculine is for big problems, and the feminine for smaller ones. Back then it was to distinguish between the troubles of men, and those of women.
That spring day when my Grandmother cried out the masculine form and threw a dish, then threw another and began to cry; we knew, my sisters and I, that our Father would not be returning from the war.