An Ode to my Cubicle Mate

 

Listening to you
Decimate an apple
With your equine teeth
Makes me want to burn down
Every orchard
That ever existed.

The scrape, scrape, scrape
Of your desperate spoon
In that empty yogurt container
Sounds just like my cat
In his litter box.

If you are that hungry
We will find you a table at a good
Soup kitchen.

I’m not listening to
Your next favourite band.
Or anything.
The ear buds, an obstacle to conversation
Playing my all time favourite:
Silence.

Simply put,
The only thing worse
Than your interrogation
About how I spent my weekend
Would be to hear about yours.

So, how about you take a giant step backward
With each of those size 13s.
Standing on top of me
Will  not make us BFFs.

But it does put your doughy face
Within reach
And I just might lose control and slap it
From hand to hand
Like uncooked pizza.

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