[Poem] Tuna Fish

Sitting at the bar listening 
to people talking shit,
each pleading their case 

that their struggles are

more harder than the last.
The working class victims 

of economic society.
One suddenly breaks from
the poor me testimonials and
begins a rant about tuna fish.
"Fuck StarKist" a man shouts
and takes a sip of his beer.
Imagine if Wolfman Jack
stepped into Hemingway's novel
The Old Man And The Sea,  
He'd look just like this guy.  
"I know my fish" he continues,  
"and that's not tuna!"
"They put whatever they want
in those cans, and people buy it
because they put a damn cartoon 

fish wearin' glasses on the label!"

"Chicken of the sea my ass!"  
I sip my beer, pretending to watch
sports highlights. Tuna fish wars
at the bar are a serious discussion.
You don't want to mess with

a light beer drinker's tuna fish.

The banter returns to the more

predictable repetition.

"From now on, I'm gonna do whatever

I want, whenever i want" another man

declares after bitching about his boss. 

They abruptly all fall silent
when the next shift waitress
walks in with a brand new hairdo;

A short bob style cut that was

dyed blonde on the right side of 

her head, and brunette on the left.

"Holy Shit!" a woman yells out,
"Honey, that’s gonna take me

a few minutes to get use to."
Then a guy from the group shouts 

"Hey! Where’s the stripper pole?"

Is this even real?
Is it only just Tuesday?
Should I ever eat tuna fish again?