The Bar Poem by Justin Reamer

An old man sits at the bar,
Drinking his glass of beer.
The bartender asks for a thought,
As if it were a great idea,
But the old man raises his fist,
And pounds it on the table of men.

As if life were simple for men,
As if they needn't go to a bar,
Fighting each other, fist to fist,
Drinking their glasses of beer.
Who even had the slightest idea?
Who would've even thought?

Then came to his brain, a thought;
The old man spoke to the men.
What came was a great idea,
An idea sounding good at the bar;
They raised their glasses of beer
In a toast to Old Sergeant Fist.

Making the toast to Old Fist,
Another man came with a thought,
Taking a swig of his beer,
He drank to all the men,
And exclaimed to them at the bar,
‘Thanks for the great idea.'

Drunken, he stuttered his idea,
But a man served him his fist.
A brawl began at the bar,
And friendship was given no thought.
And so, the brawl overtook the men,
As the bartender tried to save beer.

But pointless it was to save beer,
Since the brawl was a mad idea,
And to the men,
It was pride of the fist,
Or die without honour or thought,
A tragedy in a bar.

And so collided with the men the brawling fists,
Without passing through their minds an idea of a thought,
Only to live and die while drinking the beer at the bar.