Damon Hubbs

Scream Queen

by Damon Hubbs

You’re a tough-talking Rizzo

and I’m your swamp thing

there are worse things we could do

than fall in love

who cares what the neighborhood thinks

or the fiddler on the roof

the Hammer horror girls are jealous

but your husband John

spends weekends watching Forbidden Planet

synthing five-four crosswaves on a Quadra,

he doesn’t suspect a thing.

I root you water lilies

and dam you rivers with bouquets of orchids

we escape New York

to Annandale-on-Hudson

the sky flaunting like a cheesecake poster

corseted with purple clouds,

we eat cookies and talk stag movies

until the fog spills out

O quel cut t’as, I say

but love

is a cannonball run

and your memory

a pink satin bodysuit

hanging in the closet

of the Portofino Hotel & Marina—

years later, when I see you

at the horror convention at Virginia Beach

you’re still a beauty

and I’m still a beast.

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.

Girl, Killer

by Damon Hubbs

The girl was found in the parking garage

The girl was a night waitress in ’89

The girl was pulled from the weeds along a highway in New Bedford

The killer buys a Diamond Deluxe scratch ticket at the corner Mini Mart

The girl had a blue bandana and a pair of Wrangler jeans under her head

The killer drinks J&B at a bar near the freight yard

The girl was the first victim in what became known as the night of the double event

The girl’s mouth was opened like a black umbrella

The killer reads The Philosophy of Composition on his lunch break

The killer is intelligent and organized and has dinner with many voices

The killer put his boots on

The girl had a new tattoo and minor regrets about an old boyfriend

The girl was a lifeguard at Comins Pond

The killer has a lover in Fort Lauderdale

The girl was found in a green garbage bag submerged in the Brandywine

The girl was named Leda

The killer is the life of the party

The killer lives on the street of crocodiles

The girl had expensive dental work and eyes the color of robin’s eggs

The killer elicits a structure of sympathy

The girl was third in her class

The girl was posed like a ballerina under the viaduct

The killer finishes his pie and has another cup of coffee

The killer is not named Henry

The girl was scrawled with Sharpie

The killer’s favorite film is Merci La Vie

The killer knows that a brothel is not a brothel unless soup is served

The girl was found in an alley beside the Rose Avenue automat

The killer leaves an empty red bowl in the sink

The killer attends the Dahlia Club every Thursday at the Episcopal Church

The police don’t have a clue.

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.