Call Center

12 a.m. and the phone rings--
Though the middle of the night,
Shyam is wide-awake.
His workday already started.
North America is calling.

Late afternoon in Ohio--
The caller anxiously awaits
The answers.
How to fix the printer?
What’s causing those sounds?

Shyam listens.
His job--analyze and solve.
Keep the customer happy.
He is the unknown face, only a voice,
Speaking across the continents.
Strangers momentarily connected,
Paths intersecting before diverging again.

Shyam hears the next ring.
Into the dawn, voices weave their webs
Linking him with the distant lands.

Comments: A call center worker emailed me and asked if I could create a poem about his work. It took me a while, as "a call center" is not a usual topic about which to write poetry. Having visited an Indian call center a few months ago, I was very aware of what type of place he worked. I ended up having some fun with the topic.