Surly Jonathan McNeer
Was the Master Engineer
On the wallowing old freighter, _Dotty Sue_.
He was gruff, uncouth, unclean,
And his language was obscene,
But a better grease-pot never sheared the blue.
He had nerves of tempered steel,
And without a squawk or squeal
He would plot a course to Hades for a thrill;
But his temper was like fire
And the man who drew his ire,
Who tried his patience most, was--Blaster Bill.
Bill the Blaster was a lazy,
Good-for-nothing (some said crazy),
Guy who didn't have a gray cell in his head.
He had muscle in his shoulders,
And his forearms were like boulders,
But his cranium and can were filled with lead.
Without ever even trying
He could make McNeer start crying
Down the wrath of Baal upon his hapless dome.
He and awkwardness were cousins,
He broke things by scores and dozens
Just one look at him and tubes sang, "Ohm, sweet Ohm!"
On the _Dotty Sue_, his duty
Was to keep all tutti-frutti
The rocket-blasts, the motors and the rest
Of the intricate equipment
Which insures a speedy shipment
To the planets that are buttons on Sol's vest.
But McNeer's deserved objection
Was--Bill practiced vivisection
Every time he placed his thumbs (which numbered five)
On a section of machinery.
"He'd be better in a beanery!"
Was McNeer's complaint. "I'll skin the guy alive!"
"Now, there, Jonathan!" the Skipper
Used to say, "Don't be a yipper.
I'm sure Bill does the best he can." But grief
Etched gray, fretful lines and horrid
On McNeer's space-weathered forehead.
"The best is none too good!" complained the Chief.