Noel Negele

Who Even Cares About Love Anymore

It’s one of those good days
I am high on Pregabalin and 
have been jobless for three 
weeks now but no matter,
somehow I make it work—
A clever bet, a this and that,
odds and ends of alley hand shakes
and here I find myself this 
rainless morning, wearing her stockings
over my face, holding a remote control 
in my hand like a gun

“Scream and I’ll put a bullet through your pretty face!”

It’s a good day and the sun 
shines brightly through the window 
on her naked profile
as she taps the ashes of her cigarette
onto the ashtray, moving like 
Ozzy Osborne she’s so fucked up

“Oh no” she exclaims “a burglar, all of a sudden!”

There’s tossing and turning
and I’m hard and thirsty for her
and I flip her on the bed and she laughs
and laughs as her cigarette burns my sheets

“Our life is just normalisation of deviance, isn’t it?”
she says, with a frown all of a sudden
“how long are we going to be lucky for?”

“You’re a smart little pickle aren’t you,” I tell her,
“Luck’s the residue of design babe,
it got nothing to do with anything
and don’t use your fancy words on me bitch,
I’m about to rape ya!”

She leans her head back and laughs 
and laughs and I place my mouth on her 
neckband and feel her joy 
vibrating against my lips

We are both out of our minds

And this is a good day
indeed