The Philosopher’s Bar

This is a little piece I wrote about 5 years ago. I just found it while scanning through some old files. It could use some tweaking but it’s not bad overall. I recall thinking it was the height of cleverness.

Just another night at the Philosopher’s Bar
Here all the regulars are
And a few
Just passing through

The Greeks are at their corner booth
Taking turns on the soapbox
Socrates, hoarse, hoary, uncouth
Has his usual: whiskey hemlocks

Plato and Aristotle argue politics
Of citizenry and the cities
But Parminades and Heraclites
Are playing cards, and pick-up sticks
Parminades never takes more than one

The Saints were just leaving
Aquinas wants another to go:
“Bloody Mary, with Tabasco.”

Bacon’s alone at the bar
Nursing an omelet, on the house:
Locke’s been cleaning out
The shelves in the back

Hume, Locke’s shadow
Scuttles nervously around,
Stealing notes

Descartes sits alone
Drinking martinis with a lemon twist
Getting drunk out of his mind
He quietly ceases to exist

The bouncers struggle
With Rousseau and Hegel:
Rousseau, for refusing to pay.

And absolute freedom
Is not a freedom
For Hegel to dance
To Free Bird
On the bar.

Nietzsche, he’s in a frame
On the Patron’s Wall
He is dead.

Gradually the room divides
And divides again
Like a petri dish
Into a sea of Me
Every man for himself
Until 2 a.m.

Then the doors close
And they wait to open again
At the Philosopher’s Bar.

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