Daniel B. Silver

ODE TO MY BAR


 

An Ode to My Bar
And all its divey glory
Too big to be a hole-in-the-wall
Too old for a second story

I’d be lying if I said it smelled great
Or that everyone was friendly
But provided one doesn’t rouse the rabble
The regulars will treat you fairly

Regulars who all have tales to tell
Though they can be admittedly hard to understand
Due to thick tongues purchased with well drinks
In order to quiet trembling hands

And this can, frankly, be depressing
But that’s part of the allure
For oft from pleasantries one needs respite
And of garish sunlight, a cure

The music, yeah, it’s loud
But there’s a TV to watch the game
Pinball machines to sink quarters in
A pool table for the same

There are motorbikes parked out front
And there are dogs on the floor inside
Owners who accompany both
With similar measures of pride

Yeah, there’s an outdoor patio
If you are one of those rebellious folks
That isn’t afraid to light one up
And be the subject of non-smokers’ jokes

Old rock concert posters adorn the walls
Few bands that it’s likely you’d know
Hung so people my age can lie to ourselves
By thinking, Man, I was at that show!

Maybe you could find love there
Or something lesser on a weekend night
But if the amateur crowd bugs you
You could just as easily find a fight

Me, I prefer the day shift
Or a late weekday’s last call
When the cocaine crowd is sparse
And I don’t want to strangle them all

I’m not saying you should go there
The fewer the better for me
But I won’t try and stop you
And the door cover is always free

Just know that I take some solace
That my bar still exists
Static in a crazy time in SF
Wherein unwelcome change persists