The Last Bug

``No program's that perfect''
they said with a shrug.
``the client is happy ---
what's one little bug?''

But he was determined,
the others went home.
He dug out the flowchart.
Deserted. Alone.

Night passed into morning,
the room was quite littered
with core dumps and punch cards.
``I'm closer.'' he tittered.

Chain smoking, cold coffee,
logic, deduction.
``I've got it!'', he cried,
Just change one instruction!

The change two, then three more,
as year followed year.
And strangers would comment:
``Is that guy still here?''

He died at the console
of hunger and thirst.
Next day he was buried,
face down, nine-edge first.

His wife, through her tears,
accepted his fate.
``He's not really gone,
he's just working late.''

The last little bug,
one small ant passing by,
saluted his tombstone
and whispered, ``Nice try!''.