In a lonely room they sit,
By a myriad of telephones.
Among CPU's and monitors -
It is the computer tech.
They stare at a screen,
Full of images and words.
Looking, searching...
For the next answer.
The answer to a question,
Asked for the first time or over and over again.
At times their brains are picked,
Pondered and drained -
Searching... ever searching for an answer.
"Why does my computer do that?"
The tech quietly shrugs their shoulders,
Shakes their head in silence.
One never really knows...
It is a computer after all.
Yes, they each have their own personality;
Individuals as they are.
That makes each question -
Unique to its computer.
Alas, it is a thankless job...
Fixing e-mails and logins.
Never a word of encouragement,
Never a pat on the back.
Just a click,
When the problem has been licked.
Oh well, maybe the next one...
There they sit...
Waiting...
Anticipating...
That next call. |