“Where’s James?” They ask.
Every day, at least once,
“Do you know where James went?”
Invades my thought process.

I sit next to him.
James, that is,
In a cramped space
Once housing dinosaurs.

Old copy machines
Generating too much heat
For two
Side by side vents.

One directly over my head.
“Can you tell James I need him?”

“Are you kidding me?” I think,
“Of course,” I smile.
I am a woman, after all,

Sitting in the first desk from the door.

James, the IT guy,
Occupies the back cube.
A managerial impression
That has me viewed

As his God Damned Secretary!

I promptly forget
And move on with thoughts
Of what x and y
Max out to in the scheme of things.

“Have you seen James today?”

FUUUUUCK!
After six months here
Is it not obvious?
I don’t do James!