a screen flickers
as if unsure of its mode
and I observe discompassionately.
We talk in jumbled mnemonics
and jargonise,
but not a word is spoken.
The arms of a tin box,
I feed it;
I cater as to a stricken child
on a selfish streak;
feed checks
read checks
tape errors
IO's,
you and me.
I hate you you bastard.
I give you all
but you give me nothing.
IBM 370 Mainframe - bane of my life (then) |
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