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Broken Record

My brother’s like a broken record.  He tells me about how we used to bike around the neighborhood pretending we were race car drivers, and how we’d gained multiple knee scrapes from turning the curb too fast. He’ll tell me this story twice, thrice, or even four times in a row, and laugh about the good ol’ days. I laugh with him, because though he doesn’t remember that he’s already told me this story for the fourth time in a row, he does remember the fun we had. My brother’s like a broken record, but I don’t mind one bit.

I Wish There Was Snow

I wish there was snow

On Christmas day.

I miss the good times

When we were little.

We would go out to play

And slide down the white slopes

On makeshift sleighs

And form snowballs

To throw at each other

And make snowmen.

When we got too cold

We would go inside,

And once we were warm

We’d go out and play again.

I wish there was snow

On Christmas day.

But we live in Georgia

So it’s hard to say

If we’ll ever have snow

On any given day.

I wish there was snow

During the winter days,

But right now in Georgia

We only have rain.

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