dead in the bin.

The barman don’t know the beer I want.
A brand everybody knows around here.
Then my glass leaves a wet ring on the table.
And a fly comes to say hi.
—
I hear German from the booth behind me.
And a power tool. A power saw, I guess.
From afar.
And bubbles. They’re enchanting.
—-
A police van racing down the street.
Timid minutes pass.
The sun moves precisely the way I was expecting it to.
Its rays are now completely enveloping me.
—-
A young man, across the street, dragging a stick
and texting on his phone at the same time.
All of a sudden he drops the stick.
—-
“Three forty-nine, sir.”
“Keep the change.”