A Christmas Story

An abuelita came to my register
with bitter, ungrateful returns
expensive sweatpants from a grown-up daughter
and hand-picked grandson’s sweater.

Her brown-spotted hands shook with age
as she sorted out her receipts
she outlined the sales in shaky red pen
but could not see the letters.

I quietly studied every receipt
matched numbers with gifts thrown back
and long after she hobbled away
her back lingered before my eyes.

I sat later, over my dinner
haunted by red-lined receipts
and wondered at people who toss such love

as if it were moldy cheese.

Author's Note

I work at Macy's, but this customer stuck with me... I had to write it down.