Notes About The Poem
This is a humorous, yet sharp critique of human miscommunication, social escalation, and the foolishness of unchecked pride.
Room Full of Experts
The teacup cooled; the room grew cold.
He swore his words were pure as gold,
And hissed beneath a quiet breath,
“You’ll argue this to both our deaths!”
The second sneered and shook his head,
“I heard each foolish thing you said.”
A whisper first, a sharp reply,
An angry glint in either eye.
Their voices rose from hushed and low—
A spark that set the room aglow.
A third man, listening from the bar,
Had caught the squabble from afar.
He stepped right in, hands raised in air,
“Hold on, my friends! Let’s keep it fair!
I’ve heard it all, I know the fix—”
But ten words in, they joined the mix.
“That wasn't it!” the first man roared.
“See?” cried the second, bright and bored,
“I told you so!” And just like that,
Three voices joined the mindless chat,
All talking over, fast and loud,
Already drawing in a crowd.
A fourth man sauntered up with grace,
A calm smile painted upon his face:
“Shall I settle this for you?”
The first tried explaining what was true,
When number two cut through the space,
“He lied again! Look at his face!”
Then five, then six, then ten men came,
All jumping headlong in the game!
A swirling sea of hats and coats,
With strained, raspy, screaming throats.
The argument became a storm,
Where logic lost its usual form.
Canes swung like swords through empty air,
Fists punched at shadows everywhere!
Hats flew off, coats flapped around,
A deafening, chaotic sound.
Yet standing right amidst the brawl,
The third man watched and blinked at all.
For through the swings, the yells, the cracks—
Not one fist landed on their backs.
No broken nose, no bloody lip,
No fallen glasses, or lost grip.
Just twenty men, absurdly proud,
Swinging at air and shouting loud!
At last they stopped, exhausted, hot,
And turned away upon the spot.
They folded arms, they huffed and sighed,
With wounded egos, bloated pride,
Muttering low about the night,
Convinced that they were in the right.
The funny thing? The whole damn mess
Was born of simple foolishness.
For Gentleman Two, before the fight,
Had misheard everything that night—
He’d caught a piece of gossip, thrown
From across the room by men unknown,
About a horse, a broken cart,
And mixed it in right from the start!
He crammed a completely different tale
Into their talk of tea and ale,
Then blamed the first man for the lie
Never even knowing why.
So off they stomped in angry mood,
Trapped in a completely fake feud.
A grand, dramatic, noisy scene,
Over words that never had been.
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