For Dad, Bruce, Cameron, Qazi, Michael and Narrotam
The murmur of voices
Are symphony to flashing lights
Coloured lines of code
Jumbles of letters
Make up words
I can’t quite understand
No matter how long I stare at them.
Sticky notes with curly handwriting
Say things like
Mt P=26.8.72 and
Transaction Memory – Nominal Group Technique.
Pinned to red felt walls.
Greet me and each other
Team mates, friends.
Relying and relied on
Three screens to every desk
I think of customers
That hold the black plastic shell of a radio
And press a button to talk.
They don’t see the hard work
The lines of multicoloured code
The friendly people
The flashing lights that beep reassuringly,
Lifelines to other, unseen components.
They’ll never know