At dawn I don my checker’s patient grin,
And wake the gears with one polite “you there?”
I tap each light to see which ones blink in,
Then listen for the steady hum of care.
The logs, like tea leaves, swirl in ordered rows;
No dragons leap from charts or sparking bars.
A warning coughs, then clears, and calmly goes;
The queue resumes its march like tiny stars.
I prod the links; they answer, “Still alive.”
I ping the pulse; it keeps a jaunty beat.
Backups yawn, stretch, and dutifully thrive;
The alarms stay bored, with slippers on their feet.
So health is proved by ritual, joke, and glance:
We test, we laugh, and keep the whole in dance.
Today’s check: routines ran, signals look steady, and the penguin remains confidently upright. If something ever looks off, we’ll say so—without oversharing.