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Opening Up The Shop

It’s a quarter past seven, I enter the store;
A beautiful morning, I dust-mop the floor.
I glance at the clock, seven thirty-five,
And still I await for help to arrive!

The first man’s not here yet, it must have been Scott;
I can’t take it further, the jerk should be shot!
I bleed the compressor, I clean up the bench;
I stock all the weights and collect every wrench.

At ten to the hour I roll out the racks,
Sweep down the sidewalk and oil the jacks.
By now I’m so angry, still no one is here;
I polish my boot for the kick in the rear!

Alone I have done it, the store is all set;
It’s time now to open, still nobody yet.
As I walk by the counter I notice the date;
I’m all set to open on SUNDAY at eight!

Picture of Wes Stephenson

Wes Stephenson

Author, motorcyclist, poet, and adventurer. Let's journey together.



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