My Job
My Job compassion stories
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mipoet
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America runs on trucks.

My Job

A small town.

A fall day.

Up before the sun.

Dark night.

Cold morning.

Stars twinkle in the sky.

I drive to work.

A quiet drive.

Short.

Then I drive for work.

I get to my station,

alongside the freeway,

where I begin weighing trucks.

Some are heavy.

Some light.

Some too big.

Some don’t pay taxes.

I stop the trucks.

Write tickets and warnings.

The sun rises slowly.

First with the night sky turning,

from black to blue.

Then, the yellow light creeps in.

The drivers are from all over.

I’ve met some from Africa,

others from eastern Europe.

Asia, South America, and of course,

every corner of the U.S.

I enjoy that aspect of the job.

The diversity.

I ask how they like the US.

Every time,

they say they love it.

These hard workers,

from every corner of earth.

Sacrificing time with loved ones,

so that they can provide for them.

Drivers have a tough job to do.

Appreciate them.

Show them respect.

America runs on trucks.

Thank a trucker for their hard work! :)

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