Poetry Showcase: Damon Hubbs

photo from pixabay

Boys on Bikes

the summer 
of the boys on bikes

we trade 
toy diaries with locks 
& miniature keys

for soft-
skinned ones 
bound in leather

the charm 
of difference
we hide in new places

like a game of Clue
for the boys on bikes 

afterwards, an outbreak 
of bark beetles
cause nightmares 

on Elm street
we were 
never as pretty 
as we once thought

& lied 
to our diaries 

about the summer 
of the boys on bikes  


daddy said the sinkhole 
     will take everything one day 
          but he’s too busy chasing mermaids
               at Weeki Wachee to do anything about it

the money daddy made wrestling gators 
     at roadside stands could buy something solid
          but he bet it on Jai alai, lost, lost again
               & again & again, hatched a hairbrainer 

with his buddy Lou, Little Louie they call him 
     to pinch a Gold of Kinabalu from R.F. Orchids
          the ground isn’t fit for anything, daddy said 
               this after a three year stint for B&E

after mom decamped to Cassadaga to realign
     to scream, to collapse on a floor embedded 
          with rose-quartz crystals with other women 
               looking for vibrational energy 

Bomb Threat

it was the weekend
     Culta Fatima beat Subduing Mara
          at the Unitarian Church’s 
               Battle of the Bands

earlier in the day, Shane
     the older brother of Fatima’s lead guitarist
          called in a bomb threat from his shitty job 
               at the Quick Mart  

we spent the afternoon    
     sunbathing on the football bleachers, tops
          cropped as police dogs sniffed our lockers.
               Everybody knew what Shane was planning

he’d peaked in high school  
     & was as bored as we were —everything 
& that night 
     Culta Fatima’s drummer 
          tied gym socks around his sticks 
               & set them on fire

the guitar was a white-clad woman
     emitting burning rays 
          of lights
               brighter than the sun 
later, clustered in the back of a Camry
     I hurled my virginity at you.          
          It was ticking, ready
               to explode

Mall Directory, 84'

It’s a cruel summer. 
You go to the mall
cry with Martha at Dippin’ Dots,
Racheal over slices at Sbarro. 

I stay in and watch Miami Vice
try to figure out Jan Hammer’s 
theme song on our son’s Casio.  
It was a big year for cartels. 

When Kmart purchased Waldenbooks 
it stopped selling Fangoria.
Still can’t take a Tylenol 
without fear of cyanide poisoning.
It was a big year for takeovers. 

We married too young,  
have known each other 
since Elementary School.
Mall Directory says 

the divorce attorney 
leases space between 
Spencer Gifts and Camelot Music

reliable, affordable, quick and easy.
The metalheads flash Devil’s Horns 
as I go inside.

Bio: poet, writer. constant gardener. avid thursday tennis player. born upstate, lives in new england, raised on french symbolists. loves a good scone, pulpy paperbacks, synthesizers, architecture. poems featured in Book of Matches, Lothlorien Poetry JournalOtolithsRoi Faineant PressSparks of Calliope, DaturaCajun Mutt PressA Thin Slice of AnxietyHorror Sleaze TrashThe Beatnik Cowboy, and others. Take a look, or don’t: dmhubbs.blogspot.com