Spock, After “A Few” Whiskeys

Under the present conditions,
captains' oak seaboards bounded
under standard issue boots like dogs on leash.
Far ago
the storybooks rippled and
were
reality,
if you can believe that, Mr. Scott.
Parrots in hats gave birth to our fair lady,
Intergaluniversaline.


This flower follows from stem to root. Good, yes, this is good.


Why keep the life force stale and hidden?
Better:
The best chosen ripe fine favorite choice excellent
suspended for the primal second.
Let us preserve heaven
and budget accordingly.
Black, of course. Thank you, Mr. Scott.
Think on this.


This flower follows from stem to root. Good, yes, this is good.

I feel a jungle and the leaves
are wet, dripping drip drops
onto the concrete.
Excelsior – I imagine.
Glory in the highest
thrown
up up up.
Worship – I imagine.
Under these circumstances,
worship is allowable, even,
I feel, Mr. Scott.

This flower follows from stem to root. Good, yes, this is good.

Would you kiss a woman
under a waterfall
even if you could
disassemble
the bug in under
four and one-half seconds?
This is hypothetical.
Another glass.

This flower follows from stem to root. Good, yes, this is good.

On a day that has been volleyed
into the middle of future's little daybook
on that day
Mr.
Scott
we will see every world
and touch each one
we will be brother gods
yes.
But not
under the present conditions,
Captain.

Author’s note: I acknowledge that canonically Vulcans are not susceptible to alcoholic inebriation, although other substances do have adjacent effects on their physiology. Personally, I was committed to the aesthetic of whiskey, but if it helps you to supplement with “hot chocolate,” by all means do so.

Sarah Johnson LaBarbera is an ambitious perfectionist by day, a perpetual literatus by night, and a jaded Midwest angel around the clock.