At the desk before me

[Achebe]

See Tilly? he asks. 
Star Employee. 
See her eyes
roll
like marbles in a vacuum cleaner, 
spinning their way to a one-off payment. 

Tilly don't remember ... mysterious use of pidgin
the smell of grass between her toes. .... hyperbolic, but ok.
She spends her lieu in cyberspace, 
occasionally sighted only by the grace of 
tweets and Ebay receipts. 

Tilly don't recall 
the taste of paint along her fingertips, 
nor the sound of sunshine. .... or the smell of purple. Too gimmicky.
She got no time for the 
touch
of human eyes, .... again.
and certainly no sight for 
human words. .... and again. Trying too hard to be clever 

Tilly works, 
he admits with a satiated smirk. .... and too millennial
She can live her life on flex - 
if circumstance allows, o' course.

The poem would benefit if Tilly's motivation to work all the time were explored in a strophe  - right now she's just a cardboard character.  The last strophe makes it sound like a millennial's uninteresting rant.