Ode_to_a_Bar

The poem I wrote when the local dive bar burned down

More Than A Bar: An Ode to Howell's

On the corner of Mason and West Village Drive,
Stood the best type of bar on earth-a dive.
Whiskey and a wash, beer and a shot,
Dearbornites know that this was the spot.

Adventures at Howell's made us who we are,
A place that was always much more than a bar.
Extraordinarily ordinary, simple yet unique,
Time spent at this dive is the best time of the week.

Howell's cooks burgers that are hard to beat,
To have a boring night is an impossible feat.
Young, old, newbies and regulars,
This is a bar never short on characters.

From celebrity look-a-likes to that drunk old guy,
To the fat kid on the bar, convinced he can fly.
There's a special comfort lounging in these chairs,
Bad days quickly transformed by people who care.

Laughing, fighting, relaxing and crying,
All can have fun, without even trying.
Secrets are shared, stories are told,
No matter how much you're there, it never gets old.

Where relationships form, rekindle and sometimes fall,
Twas a magical place, between these walls.
Staff knows you by name and asks how you are,
As Dearborn's evolved, Howell's is steadfast-THE bar.

The chairs may be ash, the structure may be hollow,
Patrons from all walks are ridden with sorrow.
Futures were planned, memories were made,
The legend of Howell's never will fade.

With heavy hearts, and a future unsure,
April twenty-fifth seems just a blur.
We hope you come back repaired and alive,
We will support you, and help you revive.

We shall never lose hope or throw in our towels,
Because there will never be a place like our Howell's.
With all this said, there's one thing left to do,
Have a cheers to our bar and kindly say, "Thank You".