Ode to Eva

This is an ode to the woman who sits at the end of my row of cubes. Her back is positioned to the entrance to the cube. When I walk by her cube, she turns her head around, like a frigging crane, wrenching it's neck around, to see who's walking by.
Its frigging annoying.

So here it is:

Why of Why,
do you look at me,
everytime I walk by
your cube?
Isn't your time
better put to use?
Please, there is
no excuse.
Do not look at me
again.
Or I might just
accidentally stab
you with my pen.

Thank you.