This poetic story was prompted by the following image:
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
Les Noms De Plume 