So I'm dropping off my weekly
sack of canned food & baby formulato a food bank when
an older woman pushing
a shopping cart stops to declaim:
"I'm changing my name
and my birthday," she says,
her speech not hampered
much by missing teeth. "Two
years ago on my birthday,
I got hit in the face with a baseball
bat. This year on my birthday,
I got hit by a U-Haul truck."
I want to ask what new name
she's chosen and maybe the fresh
birthday but instead say,
"That's terrible," one of my go-to
expressions of sympathy. She
scowls and says, "I know it's
terrible. You think I'm an idiot?"
"No, ma'am," I say, and scamper
with my bag toward the food bank.
hans ostrom 2024
