The Man At Work

I see the man at work More often than I see My wife. I've spoken more with Him than with any Other soul throughout My life. Five times fifty two Times thirty six Minus holiday and Sickness is the number Of times we've said Good morning and Good-bye. Fifty two times thirty Six, a cheery Friday Weekend wish and Mournful Monday Morning 'Hi'. I've seen him urinate A million times. Watched him sip His caffeinated drinks - We fetch them for Each other - one day it's His turn then it's mine. A thousand nights We've journeyed to the Office pub for office Drinks. He used to Bore us with his, Business banter, ten Years on resorts to Forty winks. For several years We car-shared, passed The sleepy mornings Cursing traffic, health And weather. Then we Lost our taste for words And found commutes In silence better. And every day I loathed Him more and longed To tell him so and would Have done it but for fear Of his humiliation. So I struck a balance. Kept my distance. Ignored his weekend Invitations but smiled And nodded at his Prattish conversations. Now we are retired. Yet still he phones And breathes the same Old routine jargon down The line; so we chatter And we pause and Reminisce about our Working office lives That buzzed a bit At times although they Gave no special Inspiration Or reward. He says I was the only person In the office who didn't drive Him round the bend. He's pleased we made It through, still friends.