Here’s To Bedlam

Chaos, I eschew.
Maybe you do, too;
But the food here’s very good,
What’s a guy to do?

There’s twelve girls in front of me,
Crying babe behind,
So I thought I’d try to write.
I have lost my mind.

Bedlam was a place
Horrible indeed —
Now it’s just another noun
We use when we need

To describe a crowd and noise,
Much like this, today —
Minor league excitement,
As you extroverts would say.

Still, I ate my food,
Paid by bill, and left.
Breathed the quiet of the street,
My last nerve bereft.

I am not a noisy man,
Yet I have to smile:
A little bit of bedlam
Doesn’t hurt
Once in
A while.

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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