The Price of Okra
by
Damon Hubbs
Lit crit with the
speedo architect aw god what a narky
bitch
When lambo, buy the
dip
two suicides off
the Williamsburg Bridge
all this Fire Island
modernism
and the sun like
a mouthful of vodka.
Coleridge is here,
and Lulu. “I’m working
on a building,”
Speedo says, “that’ll fuck you
like the price of
okra.” I don’t get it. I’m mid-
point on a bell curve.
Lulu is releasing years
of trauma watching
the birds make a dress for
Cinderella. Flippening/flappening,
pump and dump.
How fast can you
catch an STD?
Cedar siding, post-and-beam,
Canasta and charades
no lawns, no fences,
suspended floors that draw the breezes
like silk assets
and wrap dresses—yes
a close reading is
open to suggestion, like
hunger and harm and
my second sex. Someone
takes a polaroid
of Speedo’s deck, someone
slut walks from Vienna
to The Met, someone
makes a margarita
as we paint the walls without the
edges.
When moon, buy the
dip
I draw a line of
beauty from your stomach to your hip.
The novel is dead.
The novel is dead
Someone put on Pet
Sounds because Brian Wilson’s dead.
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.
