Frosty the Fireball

I’ve always wanted to use the name Madge in a story. Thanks to Rochelle, and her intriguing photo, I finally get my chance. Some of you may remember Madge as the beautician who soaked her client’s fingers in Palmolive dishwashing detergent to make them soft as a baby’s ear (or was it a lower region?).

 No palms or olives were injured in the fabrication of this week’s installment of Friday Flash Fiction.

 To read more stories, visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields blog, and click on the little blue InLinz critter to find links to other author’s offerings

Frosty the Fireball


(phone rings)

“Good morning, Irma, this is Flossie. Do you know what’s going on with Madge?”

“No. Is she all right?”

“Well, something’s going on. She’s too busy to talk on the phone, so I went over there. She kept watching the clock and practically shoved me out the door at 3 o’clock. Minutes later, a gray-haired man arrived and stayed for two hours.”

“That must be Paul. What else did you see?”

“Not much, her windows fogged over. He looks twice her age.”

“Well, Madge told me, ‘Just because there’s frost on the roof doesn’t mean the fire’s gone out.’”







I’ve never met a woman

who’s more like the weather.

Her disposition can change

like the swish of a feather

Forget that the forecast

calls for 90 and sunny,

better put on your coat

The Ice Woman cometh


Like an icy arctic front

sweeping down from the North,

the temperature drops

when she walks through the door.

Suddenly you remember

what you like about summer,

better put on your coat

The Ice Woman cometh


Don’t try to console her,

you’ll never be a hero.

The stare “chill factor”

is twenty below zero.

With a silence so deafening

it sounds like thunder,

better put on your coat

The Ice Woman cometh


Like any winter storm,

we know it won’t last.

We fear its approaching,

we rejoice when it’s passed.

The movement of time

slows to a crawl

while we patiently wait

for the Ice Woman to thaw


20 thoughts on “Frosty the Fireball

  1. Really like the poem, having had some experience along those lines. As for the two hour visit of the old guy in the story, I’m sure that’s how you mean to tell us that this is strictly a work of fiction, in no way fact based. That’s correct, right? Right? Please say right.


    1. No, I think two hours is about right. My dad asked an old man about sex one time, and the guy said, “I can shoot my gun as well as ever – it just takes longer to load it.”


  2. Loved your poem and got a good chuckle from the story, Russell. Madge is the name of the healer in my novel… I’d forgotten about the Palmolive woman and now I’ll never think of my healer Madge the same way! Haha.

    I saw over at Rochelle’s site that you have a birthday coming up too – Happy Birthday!


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