Emily, her Elves, and the Bank

Hmm, where do I start?
Is it with introducing Emily,
or should I begin with her Bank Elves?

Ahh, I have it!
We’ll save those complicated characters for later.
I go the easy route.
I will start with setting the place.

It’s a fairly normal bank,
although it’s warmer and friendlier than most,
and definitely has more heart.

One reason it’s so, no doubt, is due to Emily,
who, as you may have already guessed, works there.

So, here is our segue back to character.
With the “Beautiful Queen of Girl Scouts,”
(As that is what the elves call her) we’ll start.

Perhaps more monikers of theirs for her,
would serve best to illustrate her further.

So here are just a few.

“Kindness Incarnate.”
“Charm Personified.”

“The Loveliest Doe to follow down a Rabbit Hole.”
“Grower of the Most Beautiful Brown Hair Ever.”
“Owner of the Most Beautiful Hair of any Color.”

“Little Modern Day Cleopatra.”
"Looks WIcked Cute in Black Leggings."

“Mistress of Multi-tasking.”

"Loves her Twin, More than Herself."

"Our Boss-Boss who's Never Bossy,
Who also Loves Watching Old Movies."

“The Wisher of Peace for Everyone.”

I could go on and on,
as the elves’ titles and names for her are legion.
But I think you get the gist and drift,
of their respect, and unshakeable opinion,
that she is ultimately favorable.

And now I will chip in to describe Emily as well.

I will try to keep it brief and short.

I have one son and no daughters.
If I had had a daughter, I would've wanted,
her to be pretty, yet humble and modest,
and naturally also of good, charitable character.

Emily, on these accounts,
I dub her overqualified,
to have been this wished offspring of mine.

Although I have to admit, rather sheepishly,
that sometimes when I'm in her presence,
some of my feelings stirred are not very fatherly.

I know what you are thinking, Dear Reader, being,
"Whoa, whoa, creepy, old author!
That's disgusting!
Holy, jarring record scratch!
The genre for this piece is romance/love,
and isn't guilty pleasure, unethical, erotic filth."

Your shameful feedback is duly noted.

Now, while don't think I can keep this tale completely
rated G, pristine and squeeky clean, I'll try my best
to see that the rest, hovers at roundabouts PG 13.

So, focusing, focusing, as I wheel this story,
back from my daydreaming, dirty tangents,
to the right and pure track.
Now I return from "Where was I?"
to this story's sweeping and epic plot.

I think between the elves and me,
Emily's lovely picture has been painted.

Now, finally, finally to the elves then!
And who they are.
What they do.
And what they look like.

Ring finger long, both boys and girls.
Pointed ears, sharp noses.
Adorable and aesthetically pleasing.

Their domicile and abode are,
behind the ceiling tiles directly above,
Ms. Emily’s bank, work cubicle.

When she and everyone are gone,
and after the bank is long closed, they descend,
to her aforementioned bank cubicle,
where they group and gather to prepare.

The male elves arrive first,
dropping like paratroopers to her desk.

Some rappel down silken spider strands.
Others sail down under parachutes of web.
All-to-an-elf shouting and acting all bad-ass.

As they hit desk, they empty their lungs of air.
Next, they long breathe Emily’s leftover scent,
becoming dogs of war as their chests expand,
for what they smell is to their taste.

Intoxicating cheerfulness! Invigorating kindness!
This is what they inhale deeply.
And her passion for compassion,
her quick, playful wit, and her drug-like goodwill.

They get high off it. They fucking love it.
They get all wild, jacked, amped, and pumped.

I'm sorry, that was R-rated drug use.
What can I say?
I've broken my promise is less than a page.

Anyway, too late now, let's just move on.

The elven girls join their Boys shortly thereafter,
as they are sleepy, yawning, later risers.
And they enjoy their beauty sleep more,
which their impatient boys have to admit,
works to perfection, they always look great.

So, the girl elves late "risers" flip the script,
and my opinion, begin to steal the scene,
as they float down gently by sorcerous means.

Their mood is different, however, from the Boys,
as are their demeanors and actions.

They sit down, cross-legged, in lotus positions.
They close their eyes.
They quietly focus.
They tap into Emily’s lingering peaceful vibe,
her residual, soothing gentleness, still left behind.

In doing so, their power to enchant grows tenfold.

The boy elves are ready to bring it now.
They race out the bank’s doors and into the bigger world.
They howl, screech, and snarl as they, ironically enough,
commit acts of peace and benevolence.

For people, plants, or fauna, it matters not.
They help those one and all.
They attack and mend broken shit.
Mending wrongs in our piss-hole world.

Every night they do this.
Then, they return to the bank before dawn,
and go back behind their ceiling tiles above to sleep.

I know you are thinking, “That is so stupid.
How could elves run around at night,
fighting crime and Dudley-Do-Righting it,
without anybody noticing or seeing?”

Well, that is where the girl elves come in,
for when the Boys first blast out for the night,
they, hot on their heels, float outside as well,
following in their Boys’ frantic wake,
while weaving potent spells to obfuscate.

With incantations of invisibility, they start,
making the Boys and themselves undetectable.
And they cover the Boys' actions and tracks with hexes,
so, we cannot see or understand what they fixed.

And they have their Boys’ backs with magic as well.
For instance, animals can hear and smell elves easily.
So, the Girls are always on lookout, loaded and locked,
to charm or enchant any dogs, foxes, or weasels.
To make them sleep, be calm, or step off,
to any who pose danger to their beloved fellas.

They are getting better at this, I dare say.
Been quite some time since a boy elf has fallen prey,
much less even been scratched by; an owl, cat, or rat.

That’s the way the Girls like it.
They want all their Boys to become old “men,”
and have them die all ancient, frail, feeble, and wrinkled.

Not that they won’t still weep to heartbreak when they do,
and since crying never makes girl elves feel any better,
They go all out for their Boys nightly, absolutely unfettered.
Their goal, to have their boy elves perish, centuries old,
safe and sound at home, with them lovingly tending.


How about this? Here is a vignette for you,
that I think will further explain and elaborate on the
length and depth a girl elf's boyfriend devotion,
and will also add some much-needed plot,
to this largely character driven "poem."

One night, as the Boys ran around town,
assaulting violence and killing homicides,
and holding up and stealing from robbers,
to take back that loot those thieves absconded,
to then put it all back where it belonged,
(i. e. unburglarize those unfortunates' houses)
they came across a gang of King, Arch-Imps.

So where did these imps come from?
Sigh, you’ve got so many questions.
“I wanna know this, I wanna know that!”
I bet your next nosy questions are,
“What’s up with the sky, and why is it blue?”

Alright fine, and ironically enough, the imps,
didn’t come from anywhere high above
.
They came from down below earlier that night,
as their alternate-universe hellish plane,
where they live by day, was just connected,
via an unholy, mystical and nasty portal,
to the Bank’s staff’s (yet uncleaned) toilet bowl.

In other words, the imps exited and exploded,
from the staff's Bank, unisex commode.

Indeed, the imps did it, so I wrote it.
Which now adds some literal potty humor,
to this magnificent saga of epic proportions.

So, as the imps emerged all wet and smelly,
then they too went through the Bank's doors,
and into the bigger world outside,
where they proceeded to do what imps do best,
being the worst, and dragging the world down,
inflicting madness, sickness and fearfulness.

What's an Arch-Imp look like?

Twice as big and tall as a boy elf,
huge pointed ears, and large, warty noses.
Filthy claws and yellow, unbrushed teeth,
both of which are razor sharp.
Long tails, with poisonous barbs
and/or a venomous tipped stinger.
They are unsettling and gross to look at,
and not pleasing to the eye at all.

And presently the imps were crazed as their,
large, warty, snotty noses had now,
picked up the boy elves' scent and trail.

These steroid laden, meth-head imps,
soon spied, our heroic Boys.
They grinned evilly,
then contemptuously issued challenge.

The Boys knew they were in for it, but they are street,
and street means you never beat your elvish feet,
even if you all but know, you're going down in defeat.

But since they always take umbrage,
with the imps' hatred for people,
so much so, it enrages them to no end,
the Boys closed the distance to the imps,
regardless of the dire consequences, fearless.

And as they suspected they were outmatched,
for in short order, the imps were thoroughly,
and royally, kicking their skinny, boney asses.

The Girls cast spells of charm, fear, and sleep,
but these imps just laughed those off,
because they were next level and immune.
In fact, no magics of any kind,
could touch or affect them.

The Girls switched gears as they realized this,
and began to conjure weapons to assist.

So, here's a quirky thing about the Girl's magic.
When they mystically call forth something physical,
they have less control than one might think,
as their frame of minds, emotions and moods,
are what completely dictate what they create.

In other words, for manifesting weapons,
by spell, they don't get to choose what they want.
They just get what they get.

And since the Girls were furious with the imps,
weapons of safe distance weren't produced,
like bows and arrows, to take for instance.

What was conjured-up when the spell was completed?
Switchblades, nunchucks, brass knuckles, spiked clubs,
piano wire garrots, cobbed-prison knives, and the like.

One Girl even got a flaming blowtorch,
because she was so hot and livid.

Thus armed the Girls then channeled Little Ann.

And since as everyone knows,
(and if you don't then google it)
that Little Ann was so smart,
as are the Girls as well,
(I mean, they weren't born yesterday,
as a couple are a few are hundreds of years old)
first, they snuck up and then sucker clubbed,
or back shanked, every engaged imp they could.

Once the element of surprise was lost,
did the Girls retreat and abandon their Old Dans?

No way, Jose.

Instead, they went all M.M.A. and Bruce Lee,
on these imp's asses and behinds,
much to the shock of both boy-elves and imps alike.

A moment later, the Supra-Imps were in flight,
all bloody, messed up, and crying pitifully,
all with their tails between their legs, literally.

Or what was left of their tails, I should say,
for at the hands of the girls, quite a few fled,
without their tails' previous barbs or stinger head.
Some left with their tail half chopped off.
A couple fled with their whole, long tail gone.

The imps were very confused by this too,
because that was the first time they had come out,
on the losing end of a fight with...anyone,
as they were previously champions undefeated.

The Boys' pride was hurt, but that didn't last long,
because their girl elves started to tend to them.
Preening, fussing, and first aiding them,
while also cooing how brave and tough they'd been.

Worked like a charm for the Boys,
they soon forgot the total drubbing they took,
as the Girls' touches and words,
soon took all the imps' tail stings out.

By the way, soothing words of reassurance,
issued by a girl elf to her boy,
is very moving, and the ultimate in sultry.
I can't emphasize how enchanting it is,
when a girl elf consoles and sooths her love,
in dulcet, feminine tones, and in musical Elvish.

Puts smooth Spanish and romantic Italian to shame.
It even makes the most eloquent French seem lame.

Anyway, how I digress…
Where was I?
I don’t remember.
I guess I’ll just wrap up the elves’ daily-night.

So, the Girls, too, just before dawn, return to the bank.
They enter through the doors and glide up after their guys,
and back behind the ceiling tiles above Emily’s desk,
where each curl up with her boy in his bed, to rest.

The Boys love this, by the way, it's the fuckin' best,
to have a smoking, elven, bad-bitch-witch in bed,
play with, partake of, and have his way with,
in his own cozy crib, i.e. his feathered nest.


I should say, and now at least, briefly mention,
how the elves came to live, above and behind,
the ceiling tiles directly over Emily’s cubicle-desk.

You see they used to roam and rove each night,
then pick a new hidden spot to sleep by day.

Such endless wandering made them sad.
Moving morning after morning is a tough life.
They did this for years, until one midnight,
they came into a bank, then came to a cubicle.

Both boy and girl elves froze short, chilled.
The Boys smelled something that,
they had never scented before.
Goodness so pure, that a thousand baking breads,
would smell, in comparison, like total dog poo.

And the Girls felt an aura, a lingering presence,
that washed over them so warm and completely,
they instantly knew that the girl that sat here by day,
was the sweetest, kindest woman they’d ever know.

The Boys and Girls looked at each other in relief,
next they looked up at the ceiling tiles,
and then they knew that they were finally home.


Why in the world am I telling you all this?
I don’t know, I suppose.
I mean, you will definitely never see the elves,
nor recognize their fantastic deeds done nightly.

But you certainly might cross paths with Emily someday,
as that human girl lives in our very mundane world.

Thus, now I will take some time to help you,
because I don't want you to go for the first time,
to that bank, and get Emily as a teller,
then go out those bank's doors,
without recognizing you just brushed up with greatness.

This you "probably, probably," might do,
since she is chill and never overly showy,
As such, when you first trip over her,
you might not see her for who she is,
Queen Emily, the one and only.

Especially since currently she,
just seems to be goofing around with you
about fun sounding, rhyming salutations,
but really what she's also expressing,
are her deeper philosophies and wishes.

So, if one day you first enter that bank,
let us say, perhaps, when you are particularly sad,
and a brown-haired teller gets you laughing,
and you start to feel her weaving magic,
so strong it makes you feel so much better,
you can safely assume it’s Emily.
Even if said brown hair is so long,
her name tag is buried well under and hidden,
just like it was for me when I first met her,
and you can't be 100% sure who she is.

Rest assured it’s her.

But beware, seriously, take heed.

As you enjoy your spell of time with her, I advise,
focus and try as hard as you can to not,
fall under her unintentional spell of charm as well.

For like the girl elves that sleep above her,
as she goes about her day crunching numbers,
she too can simultaneously enchant bewitchingly.

Nobody knows that better than me.

'Cause I still can’t friggin’ shake it off to this day!



*Author's Note

LightinMind wrote me one of the best review's I've ever received. Insightful and hilarious. And one thing he wrote was this:

"If the elves live in the heavenly ceiling floating above the blessed bank brunette then maybe you imagine the imps as emerging from the hellish staff toilet or the gutter outside sometime after dark, smelling of filth."

This got me laughing and laughing, and I just loved it. And C'mon! How did I not think of this?! I mean that's genius!

And seriously, it seemed to fit so perfectly into the story, contrast and comparison like, between good elf and evil imp.

So those stanzas in this piece about the Arch-Imps coming out the toilet was his idea. "Credit" where credit's due.