Fifteen years and I’m still standing even after all this dealing.
Smuggler with a blaster on my thigh.
Doing what I must just to stay alive.
Call me a rogue!
Starship made from old scraps and excess spare forgotten parts.
Glint in my eyes says I have an angle.
Lets see what fortune I might yet wangle.
Term me a pirate!
I’ve not thus far stolen even a single solitary possession.
Wry smile might claim one heart or a few.
Alongside my ruggish good looks too.
Survival is a golden rule.
Do not deviate or you’ll end up the fool.
For this life is no guarantee.
Stay young, move fast and you may out last,
Those who will want your hide.
Nearly as thick as a space slugs pride.
Thankfully far less foul smelling or sticky.
Best description is probably icky.
Label me a scoundrel!
I have manners I’ll have you know.
You might just see them before I go.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 