All avoid drowning in the lecturer’s drone
by taking perfunctory notes,
each with note pad and textbook,
positioned slightly to the left
to write with the right.
I cultivate worry with my left,
always the apologetic spill,
the readjustment of tools
to accommodate the right.
In earlier years, I complied,
held the pen with the hand
became a stumbling fool on the page
which made me run back to my left,
cursed with ill-omen, and yet
became the fluid dancer of arabesque
with cursive pirouettes.
I remember waddling
with my left hand strapped to my back
by Mama, enthused with the Orthodox parable
The shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats.
Jesus said unto man, to my right are the sheep
who will inherit the kingdom of God,
to my left are the goats, depart from me,
ye cursed, into everlasting fire.
I search among the sheep, the bees, the ants
for goats, each day,
I assimilate my allotted space,
note pad and book slightly to my right,
left elbow constrained like a goat’s horn,
browse the page, devour each point
and know I’m marked from birth.