F/8 and Be There

by Damon Hubbs

At the corner of the fat apple where a naked city reveals itself

In a liquor store parking lot with its squandered moonlight and accidental grace

At the precinct where the sheriff is studying a walnut

At the burning brownstone with the comic strip punchline

Because he took his last breath on the sidewalk

In the alley behind the Bowl-O-Drome where they found a knife with a sweetheart grip

At the bus stop on West Main where Lisa lost her shoes

Under the sign that says no asses or glasses on the pool table

In the nail salon on Eighth St. where Ronnie broke it off with Marvin

At the luncheonette with whistle berries and Zeppelins in the fog

Near the bullet-proof window

Because of the Ping Pong affair at the American Legion

During the peepshow at The Squire

Behind the kitchen alcove at 10 Rillington Place

In front of a skyline like burnt lungs and typewriter ribbon

At the Drug Store with bewitching appetites and a glass so strong it can walk

In the laundromat where superfluous words are removed

On the stairway of a triple-decker in Fall River

Below the stoplight where you wear a Mustang to match your lipstick

and the warp and weft of blood on blacktop.

Damon Hubbs is a poet from New England. He's the author of three chapbooks and a full-length collection, Venus at the Arms Fair (Alien Buddha Press, 2024). Recent publications include The Crank, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Spectra, Horror Sleaze Trash, Suburban Witchcraft Magazine, & others.