This was published in The New York Quarterly a while ago.
From the root of UNIX
we branch in all directions, and my map
shows rooms within rooms within rooms,
so you'd think I could find a place here.
But I'm still in the dark.
Low laughter floats past the row of screens
by one who already knows the subject
and I crash.
You don't centralize your user database? he asks,
stunned by my sin.
I shrug, smile, wish I could unplug him,
wish I could
stand up, because every chair in this room
is too high for me, and my legs have gone numb
like his eyes—
he is only a man
who has mastered machines
so he is far more lost than I am.