Noel Negele- A Poem

A striving writer.

He poured a vodka shot

in his beer

and continued to whine

life is unfair he said

like premature hair loss

or premature ejaculation

( it seemed cancer or starvation 

 or debts leading to suicides eluded him)

and there's nothing left to write about either

he said

all the old and long gone writers have monopolized

every single topic-

how can you write about alcohol 

after Bukowski

or heroine after Burroughs

or class resistance after London or Orwell

then again there's Tolstoy and Dostoyievski and 

Camus and all the rest taking all the deeper stuff out

of the picture

and philosophy-

forget about philosophy he said

there are no more theories

to come up with 

and we're not that smart to begin with either.

After a pause and a burp

he said that even suicides have become cliches

it's terrible he said

and looked at me;

there's nothing else

left to do

but live.