Jeffrey Hermann
Blessed are the people in the returns line at Target. Blessed are their too-tight pants, their damaged shower caddies, their opened hair products. They didn’t like the smell. They changed their minds. They forgot to eat lunch. They’re losing feeling in their legs. Cursed are the two employees who called in sick. Cursed is the idea of them still asleep in bed or awake nursing hangovers with coffee or masturbating or scrolling Instagram or getting pedicures. Cursed is the Federal Reserve. Cursed is Michael’s, which is next door and closes in five minutes. Cursed is the glitter and markers someone needs from Michael’s. And blessed is me. Who does not need to go to Michael’s. Me who God loves more than anyone. I know because I used the bathroom before getting in line. Because I am heading out the door with a full refund, not store credit. Because I am not without love. Because the House of Taipei is making me beef with mi fen noodles. Because I have a dog. Because my dog will have beef for dinner. Because he likes to lie belly-up in the sun. Because the sun is almost setting and will not implode on itself today. It won’t consume every single trace of us. Not today.
#
Jeffrey Hermann’s work has appeared in Okay Donkey, Electric Lit, Heavy Feather Review, Trampset, and other publications. His first full-length collection of prose poetry and flash fiction will be published by ELJ Editions in 2026. Though less publicized, he finds his work as a father and husband to be rewarding beyond measure.