Ode to technical support
By

    It’s taken me so many calls to
    get to you. Classical hold music crackles,
    stale recording thanks me for calling
    as I’m shuffled one department to another.
    Hardware, software, special solutions.
    You take my number and promise to stay
    till the end, with no hint of exasperation.
    Your vowels swing, soothing, across oceans, tilting
    up each sentence before I repeat it back,
    just to be sure. You told me your name,
    once, but it was lost in the distance.
    You know so much about me.

    At hour three,
    you tell me I’m good with computers,
    as I stare at the unhealthy solid blue
    glow my computer uses to fight back
    against my abuse. It’s cute how
    you say computer science. Are you flirting
    with me? You browse my
    folders remotely, searching for
    the problem.

    At hour six, you turn on
    my webcam. You see me
    in pajamas. Uncombed. Haggard.
    I know nothing about you.

    You say, I’ll call you back.

    Still waiting.

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