Z) Working late at the office

The last one left at seven - with
"Don't work too hard?" resentfully
acknowledging our greater dedication
measured in man hours.
The air conditioning tails off:
we both know why we're working late.

Days slide past, slow seconds
marked by mouseclicks, hours stacked neatly
by our desks. We are no more than
the reflections in our screens,
our names truncated, hyphenated,
tagged onto The Company.com.

It's not our only function. You
across a desk. Ten denier thighs
and loosened tie. Nescafe breath
comes fast, says DO IT NOW - I FEEL -
DON'T THINK - Swipe clear the piles of paper,
coffee spilt, a photo cracked

by heel of nine to five shoe, two wee girls
you don't see much of anyway - DON'T THINK -
how minutes on from now,
before tomorrow starts again,
that one or both of us
will have to clear this up.