A while ago, I was asked to present at a large tech conference in San Diego. At the preconference meeting the rep suggested that we open our talks with a joke, or a poem(!). I thought, “I can do that!” So I started working. Recursive functionality – where a formula references itself, like looking in mirrors that reflect endlessly – was a recent feature in the programming language I was using, so my mind went there. You are supposed to shmooze at these conferences – never the easiest thing for me – but I was particularly distracted at this one.
The next evening, I found myself with a group of fellow developers wandering the San Diego Zoo. Not usually open at night, the zoo was dark and magical. Suddenly, the words for the poem started to flow. I quietly (antisocially?) separated from the group and wandered around alone, speaking into voice memos on my phone. Back at the hotel, I grabbed some stationery and wrote the first version of this poem. Because of the work at the zoo, it was very structured from the start.
You can see the influences of the hotel: a lazy river and a night bar scene. But I was a nice married man and beyond the seductions of the bar and dance floor, but of course I thought about my nephews who were not.
I opened my second presentation with an early version of the poem, and the next week gave it to a smaller group of local LA developers while my business partner, Randy Lawrence, accompanied me with some jazz piano. I got the usual strange looks; perhaps the looks were simply usual, and had little to do with reading a poem in public? It’s remarkable how many programmers are musicians. By my experience, few are poets.
The first version of this poem had specific references to the conference. Later, I adapted it to stand on its own, beyond the conference. I was pleased with the time dilation, which allowed me to span 15 years in two or three lines.
In the play, D’Andre hit just the right note of fond remembrance, a wry smile, and a bit of sad wistfulness that sometimes overtakes us as our years advance.
RECURSIVE FUNCTION
The two-step cactus spines
draw blood in the desert night
But then the band loosens up
and the couples tighten up
coming into sync
In the way that only happens
late in the second set
Across the floor is a denim skirt
with a loose thread
On a thigh so fine and sharp
That you don’t have to shave for three days
And that morning’s coffee lasts for five years
And breakfast is good for another ten
So now it’s gone to late afternoon
on the lazy river
This time it’s a pink bikini
And it’s not you, now,
but your nephew
looking to tease the frayed thread
into the night
