If I cannot use both hands, what’s happened to me?
I’m not left when I’m right in the mirror of shame.
So why is the reflection a perilous sight?
Can I get this position through fury and might?
Have ye shivered me timbers and am I to blame?
I have nothing to do but to just wait and see.
Will I rule heavy handedly on the high court?
None but I know the answer, but others may guess
That I’ll treat human rights issues as I do trash
And, through some means, that I’ll line my pockets with cash.
But my soul is pure white. I’ve no sins to confess.
Blatant psychotic rage marks my will to retort.
When I was a young virgin I drank a few beers.
Why this has become paramount I cannot know.
On the one hand, I’m empty; the other… I’m full
Of professional prowess and self-righteous bull.
I am not ambidextrous. This blemish does show.
Will I emerge triumphant or dash women’s fears?