LOCKDOWN TESTOSTERONE

My hammock is here.
Routine upgrade.
I need beer to build it.
I write my boss and tell her I have a migraine.
I open a beer.
This is a good day.
The box is really heavy.
Shit.
My neighbour is on his balcony watching me. He’s drinking beer too.
It’s 10am and we are both drinking.
The inspirational balcony Pavarotti is long over in my neighbourhood.
Ok.
Need to be methodical. Don’t rush in.
Beer.
Separate the components.
Put everything in organised piles.
I’m sitting with my legs wide.
Need to let my big man-builder balls breathe.
He watches me all the time. I don’t like it.
I’m in a ground-floor apartment. He’s in the top-floor apartment directly across. He can
see everything I do. I can see most of what he does.
Before lockdown I hardly noticed him.
He’s been drinking a lot.
I don’t sleep. He cooks and plays Stevie Wonder at 4am. I imagine he cries to it. Hacks
and pukes his guts up at 9. Then drinks again.
This key thing doesn’t match the number on the sheet.
They need to train the children better in the IKEA factory.
Got it.
He shouts something at me in Italian.
I look up. He blows me a kiss.
He wants Covid sex.
He’s a spreader. Take him away.
I look back at the curve part thing number 2.
The instructions are wrong.
He shouts something at me again. And holds his beer up like it was a great thing to say.
I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to give you attention.

Concentrate.
He's in good shape for an alcoholic.
Old enough to be my Dad.
Boyish but like a boy who has just discovered masturbation.
I like boyish men with antisocial behaviour tendencies.
How am I supposed to hold this and screw at the same time?
Man work is hard.
I want to take my top off.
No. It's easy.
His dog is barking. Practically howling.
Shut it up.
It’s a big German Shepherd.
Step 9 already.
Beer.
The dog is freaking out and bouncing all over the balcony.
It isn’t getting enough exercise.
None of us are.
He’s shouting at the dog.
They’re winding each other up.
He’s drunk.
He lifts the dog and fucks it over the balcony.
Jesus.
The noise.
Fucking hell.
I go to the gate to see.
It’s messy.
He runs out of his building screaming.
Other neighbours are watching now.
Shield the children.
The neighbours are getting louder. This is a big drama.
He’s smaller than his balcony presence.
He looks at me.
I try to transmit that I won’t tell anybody.
His eyes are beautiful.
Black-lined like a Pharaoh.
Made for something better than being caged on a balcony.

By Karina Bush

Karina is an Irish writer, born in Belfast and now living in Rome. She is the author of three books, 'Brain Lace' (BareBackPress, 2018), '50 EURO' (BareBackPress, 2017), and 'Maiden' (48th Street Press, 2016). Karina's work has also been published by Tangerine Press, Akashic Books, Expat Press, Morbid Books, Ragged Lion Press, the International Poetry Studies Institute, The Nervous Breakdown, Entropy Magazine, and more.