There was a note on Susanna’s desk when she came back from lunch. She always took a slightly longer lunch break on Friday’s, because, hey, what the heck, right? It’s almost the weekend! She needed to get in the mood to relax early, otherwise it might just fly past. There’s a line in a film about sometimes life moving pretty fast, but she couldn’t remember it. In fact, at the time, she wasn’t even thinking about it. There was a note on Susanna’s desk when she came back from lunch.
She read the note. It was written in shorthand. To most people it would have looked like a toddler had gone a bit mental with a biro, but Susanna knew what it said. It was a poem.
“Your black dress, covered in flowers. Every bloom is an explosion on the night sky. Fireworks.’
It was a poem. A short one. Susanna didn’t like poetry, and even more she didn’t like this poem. She looked down at her dress. Casual Fridays were quite easy for her. She owned a lot of dresses. This one was her favourite. It was yellow with polka dots.
Love is blind, but the poet was just an idiot.
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