In my favorite movie, "Harvey," Elwood P. Dowd (Jimmy Stewart) relates that "no one ever brings anything small into a bar."  It's a wonderful line, and I've found it to be true.
     This poem originated from something that occurred one night as I sat imbibing at my favorite watering hole.  It was certainly nothing small.  I've yet to come up with a title for it, though.

 

 

 

Old man on a stool at the fire hall bar,

trying to remember which beer he drinks.

The barmaid smiles sadly as he thinks;

the regulars recognize one more scar

 

inflicted from a blade of years, and let

it pass.  Most times his memory is clear.

They look away as she suggests his beer,

knowing worse things he'd just as soon forget.