Spreadsheet open.
Formulas humming.
   Rows balanced.
 Columns aligned.

But this office?
    More frozen assets than accounts receivable,
    thermostat probably locked by corporate

    somewhere north of Siberia.

Numbers blur,
        fingers click through budgets,
                             payrolls,
                      quarterly close—

        Excel’s autofill suggesting: “You miss him.”

I roll my eyes.

Excel, stay out of my personal life.

Yet, here I am—
     performing cost-benefit analysis
     on texting him mid-day—

     ROI: distraction.
     Productivity forecast? Slim.

Meanwhile, the property ducks
    line up outside my window,
         synchronized waddling,

         clearly taunting me with their perfect alignment.

I should invoice them
  for emotional damages—
  every quack a reminder

  of that laugh I’m missing.

Back inside,
     the copier jams. (again)
     The smell of toner reminds me
     I’d rather be inhaling his cologne,
         the lingering warmth of skin
         after that hello-hug.

An email pops in:
    “URGENT: Variance Analysis Needed.”
    My brain translates automatically:
        “URGENT: Variance in Distance—
        between me and Irby’s.
        Recalculate route ASAP.”

Temperature check—
    Still cold enough that
    my nipples might qualify
    as office supplies,
       handy for cutting glass,
       emergency envelope openers.

At least my expenses balance,
         unlike my composure.

Focus, Mari.
       One pivot table at a time.
       One more reconciliation.
       One more glance at the clock—
           calculating hours till
           I’m back in his orbit.

Closing the books early today,
        ducking out soon
        one appointment left to go—
        then the warm up at Irby’s—

        where numbers don’t matter,
        productivity is negotiable,

        and his grin is the only bottom line I care about.