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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.

Fast and Slow Workdays


Some workdays feel like

They go by fairly fast.

There’s always plenty to do,

And on those days, we have more staff.


But other days feel like

They go by very slowly.

Even after doing plenty of the work, 

Only a few minutes or so have passed.


I sometimes think about why

Some days are fast while others are slow.

Sometimes it’s because of less staff.

Sometimes it’s because of less work to do.


Sometimes it’s because of more customers.

Sometimes it’s because of less customers.

Maybe it’s in part because I watch the clock,

Eager for it to be two, one, then a half-hour before closing.


But sometimes I feel like

There’s something more to it.

Maybe God is doing some supernatural

And I don’t yet know it?


I sometimes wish all workdays

Were fast workdays

So that I can get home “sooner”

And have time to myself.


On the slow workdays

I think about what I will do

When I get back home.

But I think about that on fast workdays, too.

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