I pull his favorite doughnut out of my brown bag lunch

And then I speak.

“What if it isn’t all about bells and whistles,

or flowers,

or that fruit basket you sent to

her?”

(instead of me)

Not that it matters,

but I wonder if she notices the waves in your signature

and how they lean towards the moons in her eyes

or

does she just push your produce to the edge of her desk,

carry it to the long table in the conference room

so the coffee breath guy in the cubicle to her right,

can breathe all over the little card stuck between the bananas?

No big deal I suppose.

I hand him the pastry.

Such a little thing … a plum