Any one who says this isnt poetry dont know what poetry is.

Robert Frost walks into a bar. He says: “Fuck this motherfucking place!” The bartender asks: “What’s got into you?” Frost says: “Something that doesn’t love a bar.”

A horse walks into a bar where Walt Whitman and Ezra Pound are drinking.
BARTENDER (to horse): Why the long face?
WHITMAN (to everyone): I, too, am a horse.
POUND (to Whitman): Shut the fuck up

Byron walks into a bar. He has sex with everyone in the barMilton, Homer and Borges walk into a bar. Milton says: "Who the fuck put this bar here?"

Here I sit in misty vapour,
in a shithouse with no paper.
I have no time to sit and linger,
watch out asshole here comes finger.