Dave Bonta's short poem pictures a workplace as a place where time slips away. The speaker ages in an office, and the opening phrase "office where I age" says it plainly: this isn't just where he works, it's where his life is being used up. The title, "Place holder," fits. A placeholder is something that fills a spot until the real thing arrives, and the speaker seems to feel like that, occupying a space rather than living in it.
The tone is dry and quietly sad. After being there "too long," he starts to treat small things as "prizes," which suggests how little reward the place offers. The most striking line is "I am perfectly alphabetical." He has become like a file, sorted and orderly, and without much personality. Calling the office an "open cell" adds the idea of confinement, even though nothing locks him in. The mood is resigned, wry, and a little numb, with a sense of how routine can shrink a person.