Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
In Monday's meeting
I felt fear. Everyone was
wearing a red shirt.
One who holds power
demands that we serve him. What
episode is this?
We have been re-orged
by this hostile new life form.
I alone survived.
In Tuesday's meeting
I was cowed. My manager
had on a gold shirt.
I thought, "I know Kirk.
I've written about Kirk. And
you are no Jim Kirk."
But I kept silent.
No McCoy-ish outbursts here. Risk
is not my business.
In Wednesday's meeting
I was bored. A red alert
would have been welcome.
But it was all talk.
Just as boring as Star Trek:
The Motion Picture.
Do they play Buzzword
Bingo in the Twenty-Third
Century? They must.
In Thursday's meeting
my Trek joke bombed. In my mind,
I Charlie X'd them.
Then I made up facts
and data that made no sense.
Just like Mr. Spock.
I would love to play
a game of Fizzbin with this
strange new management.
No meeting Friday.
I work at home, out of reach
of Starfleet Command.
Decision required.
Advisers useless. Look! My
"What Would Kirk Do" shirt.
Advice from a shirt?
Why not? The prime directive
can go to hell. HA!
Next week I command
the USS XML.
Five years easily.
I'm the Captain Kirk
on this. Others will follow
later. Mere Picards.
NOTE: This is dedicated to a woman I worked for many years ago who would assign people to investigate new processes or technologies by saying, "You're the Captain Kirk of this, boldly going where the Picards will follow later."
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