My Boss, “Handsome Johnny”

This poetic story was prompted by the following image:

Coliseum in Rome. CC2.0 photo by Vlad.
Coliseum in Rome. CC2.0 photo by Vlad.

Whisking me off my sensible feet, Mr. Roselli took me out to play–

So giddy–I didn’t know he even felt that way!

This morning he called at eight, arrived at three,

Thrusting brusquely past our janitor to get to me.

My top button suddenly felt too tight,

My shy smile grew wide; inside I soared like a kite.

Just yesterday I was well-coiffed, pinned-down,

But in his penthouse my hair was ruffled under Sinatra’s soothing sound.

“It’s Secretary Day!” Roselli cried with glee,

He moved the years of imaginary employee’s flowers to pass me a key.

My trembling hands, forever smelling of our office soap,

Inched to open his envelope.

My blood rushed as I squelched my dreams,

Although my heart-wrenching wanderlust burst at the seams!

Hopefully glancing at my board, pinned with snapshots from afar,

I was distracted by the window framing his car.

Crestfallen, instantly my nerves were grating,

While he cooed, “My dove, why are you waiting?”

A relic from his travels, a scratched postcard from ancient Rome,

Scribbled on the back it said “Just call before visiting my home!”

Nuzzling my neck, he pressed the key into my palm.

I glared at the Marilyn Monroe in his Maserati, centering my raging calm.


Written for Flash! Friday flash fiction

Compare A.Ravenel Clay’s story, The Bastard’s New Job, written with the same prompt

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Dark Skies: The Story and Song for the Weary Advocate

This story is not uncommon in the world of advocacy. Nor in the world of anything, where time passes and one works, works, works.

After expending, imparting to love and free others, it seemed their toil was in vain. Those they worked for were not really free. But neither were they- the freedom bringers. The burden they carried was just too immeasurable. And darkness waited, crouching for this hopeless moment. While alone, lifeless, and fading to just a shell from pouring into others, that is when it struck. Because, you see, they don’t always know when their life-saving canteens are empty until they are standing there, isolated in the forest, brokenly gazing at the unyielding sky.

But although the mountain they stand on is grandiose, and the night looms near, they aren’t truly alone. No. They cannot be. Because the wind still howls like a fire, battering and caressing, burning and beseeching.

 

Dark Skies

When hope fades

You carry these burdens away.

But you don’t. They’re still there.

I’m fighting alone like you’re not even here.

 

Am I by myself tonight?

Am I alone beneath dark skies?

 

The empty, it shivers,

My blanket pulled tight.

The wind howling deeply

Come forge me alive!

 

Am I by myself tonight?

Am I alone under dark skies?

 

Spirit, soothe me

With pure ancient love

Whisper sweet truth to

Douse this poison!

 

Am I by myself tonight?

Am I alone beneath dark skies?

 

Sing, breathe, heal this shadow of my ghost!

Burn through the bones making me forceful!

 

Consumed with the grief

That I’m failing outright,

Pointless I’m trying

To make myself light.

 

Am I by myself tonight?

Am I alone beneath dark skies?

 

Sing, breathe, flow into my empty shell!

Catch fire to whatever makes me whole!

 

 

Dark Skies Poem Excerpt by Elisa Johnston www.AverageAdvocate.com

 

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