Daisy Bateman

Ode to the Person in the Neighboring Cubicle

I don’t know how to say this, but
I hate you.
Harsh but accurate.

I hate your endless personal phone calls
Your novelty ringtone
Your eternal coughing that
echoes across the empty office space.

I find it annoying everyone else
in your group was laid off.
But you weren’t.

And more than anything I hate
the way that every conversation you have
is just you saying, “Right.” “Of course.” “Exactly.” “You’re right.”
To the disembodied male voice that’s talking to you.

That’s why I had to write you this poem
in free verse.
The only thing I hate more than you.

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