at work

I wish the cursor didn’t blink. That it blinks makes it say

I’m waiting.
I’m waiting.
I’m waiting.
I’m waiting.
I’m waiting.
I’m waiting.

They said we think there’s somebody missing and I said funny you mention it, so do I and so I sit simply for a bit and ask the quiet who are you? and she replies me, of course.

I have to draw lines around her form so I type what do you wear? and promptly she answers see? I made it from old spinnaker cloth and I can see her there.

I ask how are you useful?

And she tells me I can’t carry much but I’m the fastest they’ve ever seen.

It’s as if they're all travellers waiting in some sort of jumbled queue, some sprawled across rows of chairs and some cross-legged on the floor against backpacks, waiting for names to be called.

She’s pressed her way to the front now and her eyes are bright, and she is ready.