Nothing ever happens (Part 2)

Bar Poetry

Then, suddenly
I’m sitting next to
a Lithuanian, a Turkish and a Palestinian
the latter dressed in sweat pants and barefoot
the middle is big-boned and not shy about it
the former eager to raise havoc over any trifle —
a heavily drunk balding man gets up in front of us
slips on a step
only to land in an acrobatic display
and then challenge the step
to a duel of masculinity
moments later he is throwing kisses
to a seated woman
and is thrown out politely by the bartender.
the two girls (the Lit and the Turk) are discussing loudly
something in German
the Pale leaves for the bathroom.
I follow after a couple of minutes
only to find him washing his bare dirty feet
in the sink.
I return to my seat
finish off my beer
look around
and I keep saying to myself
nothing ever happens.

nihilistic poetry