(John Espy and Jim Howe)
Once upon a midnight rotten working on a course forgotten
Wondering why my adjectives came after nouns and not before
While I pondered, weak and weary, wishing I were Gloria Gery
Suddenly there came an eerie knocking on my office door
"'Tis some idiot", I muttered, "looking for the package store
Only this and nothing more."
Then, unseemly and unshaven, whistling "Ain't Misbehavin'"
In there stepped a DP maven whom I knew to be a bore.
Not the slightest greeting gasped he, not my outstretched fingers
Not the least raspberry rasped he as he perched above my door,
Perched upon a bust of Elvis just above my door.
Perched and sat there, nothing more.
"You're my SME!" I realized, not the image I'd idealized,
As he sat with little steel eyes drilling through my cranial pan.
"Help me! Questions grow like cancers on this course for necromancers;
I am stuck, and I need answers---give me answers, if you can!
Cause my course to come across concisely, cursed little man!"
Quoth the Maven, "PCLAN. "
There he sat, his big head leaning, face demented and demeaning,
Though his answer little meaning --- scant illumination threw.
Yet the Maven, sitting queerly on the algid bust, spoke merely
That one word, as if it clearly uttered every thing he knew.
And when I said, "What?" as evidence, I had no clue.
Quoth the Maven "DB2."
"Fool!" I cried, "I don't need buzzwords! I don't need ambiguous
Do not cause me to use cusswords till they carry you away!
It is late, my brain is dimming; with frustration I am brimming;
Do not sit there acronyming till the acrid break of day!
Don't restrain this training --- give me answers, help me, earn your pay!
Quoth the Maven,"SNA."
And the Maven, never quitting, still is sitting, STILL is sitting
On my cursed course, emitting acronyms in his odd way
And his eyes have all the sporting of a CRT that's shorting,
And the light throws his cavorting shadow on my bare "Out" tray.
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating in my way,
Shall be lifted -DOA!