

Nobody read his pull requests.
They skimmed them and moved on.
So one Thursday night
I read the whole thing through.
Left four letters underneath it,
didn't think about it twice,
and he wrote me back before I'd even closed the laptop.
He'd been there seven years and nobody knew his work.
I'd been there six
and nobody knew mine.
Two people doing careful things in a building
full of people who had somewhere else to be.
L-G-T-M
Looks good to me
Four little letters where a love song ought to be
A year of Thursdays,
a thousand lines between,
and we never said I love you.
We said
looks good to me.
So Thursday became Thursdays and I started shipping late,
and he'd leave a question in my changes that he didn't need
to ask. I'd answer it on Friday and I'd take my time
about it,
and neither of us ever said a word about the reason.
L-G-T-M
Looks good to me
Four little letters where a love song ought to be
A year of Thursdays,
a thousand lines between,
and we never said I love you.
We said looks good to me.
Then they flew us out in October to a hotel with a
lobby bar. And I knew him in a second
though I'd never seen his face.
He said, you're a careful reviewer.
I said, you write real clean code.
And we stood there.
And we both knew.
And we talked about the weather.
Then they called us in to dinner.
Here's the thing I never told him.
I never read a line of his code.
I gave it all to Claude.
And I'd bet the house he did the same.
But Claude didn't pick Thursday.
didn't stay up waiting.
never left a question that didn't need an answer.
We did that.
The words were never ours.
But the waiting was.
L-G-T-M
Looks good to me
Take the polish off it,
take the pretty words away.
There's still a man out there somewhere who shows up
every Thursday.
And there's still me.
L-G-T-M.
Approved.
Approved with comments.
One comment.
Looks good to me.