Artwork © Eric N. Peterson


My Congressman

My congressman Wilbert H. Flexmire III. is a decent sort, I guess. He keeps two suburban offices in his district and one in Washington. Flexmire III is a multi-millionaire having inherited his fortune from Flexmire II who inherited it from the first Flexmire.

Anyway I am in Washington, D.C. for a baseball card show, planning to sell my Hall of Fame player cards for all I can get. After I check in at a hotel I hail a cab to the capitol and get directions to Flexmire III’s office, which as a chairman of a committee allows him to have a large space with windows and not too far from the cafeteria, which is good because Flexmire III is a big fellow, not in height but in weight, nearly three hundred pounds of flesh on a five foot-nine frame. He is known to have a pretty girl or two on his arm and to consume voluminous amounts of food before taking one or two of the pretty women back to his townhouse in Georgetown. Being rich Flexmire III, whom his friends and fellow congressmen called Flex, drops a few hundred on food and drink and usually gives the women a few hundred to go buy what he called baubles. The women seen in his company at Washington’s finest restaurants work in his office, so I decide to visit his office not so much to see the women but to bring my petition signed by more than five hundred people to get federal money to redo the intersection at Beacon and Harvard streets.

After following directions I enter Flexmire III’s office and am greeted by about a dozen women, some blondes and maybe a half dozen brunettes and one redhead. They are all great looking, especially since they are wearing bikinis.

They all smile and in unison ask, “How may I help you?“

“I’d like to speak with Congressman Flexmire,” I tell them.

“That’s not possible, he’s in the Carribbean with secretary number 8,” replies the one in the blue bikini. Next week he’ll be in Cancun with me,” she says proudly.

“When will he be available?”

“Oh, in three or four weeks.”

“Does he ever work? Or vote?”

Another secretary answers, “Oh we keep in constant contact with the congressman and we vote by remote control. We tell him the issue before the House, he says how to vote and we push an Aye or Nay button.”

“What if you can’t reach him?”

“Oh, if he’s unavailable we take a vote here and the majority wins.We push the appropriate button,” a brunette says.”

I think I am dreaming. A room full of bikini clad beauties and a missing congressman and the beauties do the voting when he is not around. I wonder what his district back home in Mississippi will think of all this, though I imagine the men will not care even though the secretaries in his Mississippi offices are all dressed prim and proper. They all wear eye glasses too. Washington gals have long, shoulder length hair. The local ones all have short hair.

Anyway, here I am in Washington with this bevy of beauties and Flexmire III is off somewhere with one of his secretaries.

Eenie, meenie, minie ….


Zvi A. Sesling, Brookline, Massachusetts Poet Laureate (2017-2020), has published numerous poems and flash/micro fiction and won international prizes. A five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, he has published four volumes and three chapbooks of poetry. His flash fiction book is Secret Behind The Gate (Cervena Barva Press). He lives in Brookline, MA. with his wife Susan J. Dechter.

Eric N. Peterson is from Atlanta, Ga. He’s been drawing cartoons all his life. He leans towards the absurd, imaginative, and the surreal, as that’s where all the flavor is.