The Night After Jedha

Twas the night before Tuesday, when all through the bar    
Stirred creatures from places, some near and some far.   
The lights were dimmed low by Wuher the bartender,   
In hopes that it would hide the grime in the blender.   

Figrin D'an and his band played tunes that were funky,   
While smugglers and traders dealt ships that were junky.   
Doctor Evazan drank deeply, and I in my stool,    
Had just got back from Jedha and were playing it cool.    

When from behind the counter there arose such a clatter,   
I glanced up from my drink to see what was the matter.   
Barkeep was upset that some droids came in a few paces,   
To be perfectly honest, I find him a touch racist.   

The droids left their master without too much fuss,   
More drinks were then poured as drunk scum filled their guts.   
When, what to my wondering ears should transpire,   
But the Doc making threats, his anger afire.   

Then a little old man, so lively and quick,    
He took off my arm, God damnit, what a dick!    
The room then went silent, see the band had stopped playing.    
On the floor all stumpy was my good arm there laying.    

No bowling! no boating! no tennis or wood splitting!    
No, golfing! No, cooking! No fencing or kniting!    
My retirement flashed before me as my right arm did fall,    
Then they dashed away! Dashed away! To the end of the hall.    

The wound had cauterized before the saber's light waned,    
I took another drink, my eyes wet from pain.    
To a corner table with the wookiee they flew,    
With a pocket full of credits, and Han Solo too.    

And then, as expected, I heard from the door    
The clanking and hissing of a stormtrooper or more.    
As I threw back my head, and finished my brew,    
I half expected lasers to light up their crew.    

They would have deserved it, for ruining my figure,    
But they slipped through the crowd, and I had some more liquor.    
Han Solo looked happy he slapped the hairy one's back,    
12 parsecs my ass, the good for nothing hack.    

Yet his eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!    
He sent the wookiee away, then sipped down his sherry!    
He was about to leave and stood out of his chair,    
To find Greedo the Rodian standing just there.    

He backed away slowly this meeting clearly unplanned,    
My sympathies drained, so I lent him no hand.    
I considered my options, my career now in shambles.    
To continue smuggling and dealing was a hell of a gamble.    

Without my strong arm, I'm not much of a fighter,    
I toyed with the thought of becoming a screenwriter.     
I laughed just a little, the reality looming.     
Things would be much harder as far as personal grooming.    

The worst of it all, is that the Doc could have fixed it,    
But this was his fault and he bit the biscuit.    
He laid on the ground for a long time there after.    
Another loud noise, no more Rodian laughter.    

"Sorry for the mess," said Solo as he walked out of sight.    
"Tab out for Baba," I too left for the night.    
It was still light out as I walked through the street.    
Thankful, I was that I still had my feet.