The Great Bug Hunt

Day after futile day,

I chase code across the screen

Until I'm cross-eyed

And my brain doesn't remember, anymore,

What solutions I've tried.

I've tried them all, I think,

And then some. Even StackOverflow,

That great oracle, has run dry.

OK, Google, let's try this one more time

With slightly different terms.

I hope against hope to find some overlooked

Silver bullet, a magical panacea

To banish this mysterious bug

That infects my code.

Perhaps some generous soul has posted the answer

After sharing my travail and triumphing over it --

But alas! I cannot find any.

My search result links are all purple:

Used up, worthless, desiccated husks.

I still re-click them, of course,

Because deep down I think it ridiculous

That this blasted problem hasn't been solved,

And I still hold out hope that I will

Land on precisely the right page,

Scroll to precisely the right line,

And see there, in lovely  black and white,

The blessed answer to my troubles.

(I do not, of course.)

And so at last I return,

Again and again and again,

To the debugger,

Trying to evade insanity

And somehow discover,

Perhaps in a divine epiphany,

The source of all my trouble.

Terrorism Rerun

The radio says

Terrorists hit a train

As if it is all Quite Shocking Indeed.

Three are dead,

Two were brothers,

And one the authorities haven't yet named.

I cut off the radioman in the middle

Of his frantic lament

And think of Thoreau, who,

when offered a newspaper,

Said "No, thanks -- I've already seen one."

This is like how TBS shows the same movie

Twelve times in two weeks.

I've seen this already

In Paris and Kabul

And Denver and Belfast and Hiroshima

And Baghdad and Constantinople

And Manila and Capetown and Bethlehem.

The ending is unbelievable and unoriginal,

And that actress was much prettier

When she was much younger.

Isn't it strange

How much a person can change

Over time,

And yet how little

People do?