A Matter of Etiquette
In the Barley Tavern I’m in tune,
having a couple before it’s noon.
There was no-one there to talk to,
‘cept for the barman Ken, and who,
joined me to share one or two,
until a couple of blokes in suits,
black ties, white shirts and shiny boots,
dressed up and looking like galoots;
who I was thinking to lampoon,
found themselves table and chair,
and put their briefcases down there,
and at the time I’m unaware,
but quickly found out very soon,
they had come in with lunch to eat,
and so from the cases at their feet,
they lifted out their little treat;
sandwiches, and took the opportune,
and that’s when barman Ken seen red,
watching these blokes as they fed,
so then he shouted and he said,
“Hey I’ve got rules in this saloon -
you can’t eat your own sandwiches here!”
they stared at Ken as if he’s *****,
(upset - they hadn’t bought a beer)
but Ken looks like a silly loon,
when they shrugged and gave a grin,
swapped sandwiches and had a win -
Ken had to take it on the chin.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
