A Sunday morning quickie before I dash off to work, in response to the Regrets prompt at Writingthe200.
Any regrets about my decision to join the circus as a poop shoveler dissipated at the sight of the fire breathing lady.
Oh, the light that radiated from her flaming lips. Oh, the dreams swirling round her gyrating hips.
She promised a show and her spectacle didn’t disappoint. By the end of her act there wasn’t an unedged seat in the joint.
The line for autographs circled the tent. Cost of admission was agreed to be money well spent.
I scooped up as the domesticateds left the stage, herded back to the bread stocked in each separate cage.
She laughed deep from her throat as she headed for the dressing room to remove snug-fitting sequins and wig and fetch her magic broom.
The house lights went dim and we pulled up the stakes. As we headed for the next town I had fresh dirt to rake.
But first came a note from the lady herself. I was to meet her at midnight so I busied cleaning myself.
Expecting romance I arrived with arms full of flowers to a room full of others enamored by her powers.
My fantasies doused, I took my assignment file, worked on another press release pile.