"Lady Justice is blind, so adjust her I must."
Thus whines Justice Neil Gorsuch, who's not to be trusted.
"She must be confined: I must truss her or bust."
Thus opines Clarence Thomas, who ought to be busted.
"Although she's disgusting, I'm lusting, nonplussed,"
stammers Samu'l Alito. (Such sang froid! Such crust!)
"And as ashes to fascists be, pus be to rust."
Dost John Roberts misquote The Good Book? Yea, John dost.
"When I's citin', I side wit' consuvatives fu'st."
Justice Anthony Kennedy's less than robust.
Now Scalia is dead, of course. (Isn't he just!
(Sonia? Ruth? Steve? Elena? They'll not be discussed.)
Uly Poe pens dogg'rel verse. "'Tis fun," hums Uly, "I disburse." The gamut runs from bad to worse. The matter treated...? Quite diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a blessing largely. (Not a curse.)
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