Image courtesy Group W Productions
Skeletor will be the first to tell you:
He is “not nice.” He blames his
coworkers for his failed schemes,
the long held dream that one day,
he will rule the universe, never once
thinking that this is delusional, fulfills no
quotas, or will get him a larger cubicle.
He wonders if mirrors and windows can be
made into time portals, and is frequently sent
home because of work place attire fails. He lobbies for
Panthor to be allowed in the office, saying that a large, royal
purple cat is a support animal.
No one knows who hired Skeletor, or how long he’s been here.
Skeletor simply is, like the dying rubber plant or the grey
industrial carpet. He complains that the fluorescent panel lights
make his skull look jaundiced, and that his computer does not
respect his dominion over all.
He will sneer
at the obligatory retirement watch.
But where will the company find a sword ?
Sarah Nichols lives and writes in Connecticut. She is the author of eight chapbooks, including She May Be a Saint (Porkbelly Press, 2019) and Dreamland for Keeps (Porkbelly, 2018.) Her poems and essays can also be found in Ghost City Review, Isacoustic, and Five:2:One Magazine.
