Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Paramount/Viacom. This poem is the property of SterJulie and is copyright (c) 2005 by SterJulie. Rated PG.
MAIL CALL
Ster Julie
'Twas the day after Mail Call
and all through the ship
half the crew was pouting
with big lower lips.
Because of the mail strike
on Triacus 3,
no delivery was possible
from Sector B.
Some crew received letters.
Mr. Spock got a box
with two pairs of hand-knitted,
warm woolen socks.
Captain Kirk got two love letters.
Uhura got three.
Mr. Scott got a tech manual
straight from Dundee.
Sulu got sake.
Chekov got lox.
Nurse Chapel got something
In a pink-striped box!
But McCoy, like half
of the rest of the crew,
got nothing, though
expecting a bottle or two.
"Not fair!" cried the doc.
"Do something!" Jim heard,
but he uttered no sound,
no, nary a word.
"Share some of your loot!
Give us just one letter.
Perhaps then the crew
will start to feel better."
The crew that received
the usual things
sorted out what –to them-
were superfluous tidings.
They shared with the crew
who'd received nothing new,
and figured this ought
to stop their boo-hoos.
So—
The canned ham went to Sol Schultz,
the beef jerky to Ravni Pendara.
the sweet grass smudge bundle
went to Annie O'Hara.
The crew received stuff
from people unknown.
It might not be theirs,
but it was mail from some home.
Soon every piece
of spare letters and boxes,
were shared with sad crewmen,
even Mr. Spock's soxes.
-FIN-