philosophers are easy targets for punches
they always come to these bars alone
having locked themselves for weeks in their home
they emerge out of darkness to order a beer

it's hard to know whether it's good manners or fear
which stretches their innocent smiles with no teeth showing.
give me a couple of shots and the gods of justice will come calling
for the philosopher king to rain down on weakness

the night explodes through the minutes
with no acknowledgement of my confrontational stare
until it's too late to wake from the nightmare
which happens to take the form of a defeated drunk