If what my mom always said is true,
and any work is worthy if done with a grateful heart,
why am I just so stuck on hearing their words on replay
in my brain, a tape on an endless loop,
the tone dripping in condescension
about all the “little jobs” our high school friend had worked.
Little jobs, landscaping and electrical assistant,
getting his knees covered in grass stains edging a yard to perfection
and climbing ladders to replace bulbs til his ankles creaked.
Just wonder if that same poisonous sugary voice-tape gets stuck
in anyone else’s head as someone tells them,
when I’m not around,
that this girl Jordan is now a part-time barista
and “oh, how cute is that?”