The workaholic

Perhaps the pen is stifling you
Don't roll it inside your mouth
Not as if a less exotic gesture
might fail to create the impression
of a workaholic.

Don't dance around so much
it is what it is
your enthusiasm
mangles up your concentration
or some such

don't dangle around the desk
it's not a park, missy
collect your gaze, not your hair
to the perennial shapeshifters
in a workplace

the fork comes out soon enough
while noon has begun settling in
the shades carry a dull shine
don't mock his penchant
because it eventually works out

Every evening, when you step out
he greets you with a ritualistic smile
Like a monk in a new role
same fervour, new clothes

The miscellaneous little froth, and ice
a glint, and a lemon squeeze
the intuitive organiser
a workaholic.