Damon Hubbs

Reading Bill Kushner in Lenox, Massachusetts

Coursing history, one Saturday in Lenox

I meet you on the stairs of the Garden Gables Inn

reading In the Hairy Arms of Whitman.

You say your name is Hellelil

and although your cheeks are scarlet berries

you look nothing like the woman in the painting

who would never be caught dead

reading In the Hairy Arms of Whitman.

Bolt the door, my love. I’ll feed you tea and oranges.

No, no! let’s order French fries instead

then go out for drinks at the Prairie Whale.

It’s true the place is swimming with New Yorkers.

Let’s complicate everyday simplicities

then mock the lightbulb for working too hard.

I see ten thousand Toyotas idling in the parking lot of the Big Y.

I’m fond of public meltdowns, too.

Where is the new-laid snow

Where is Reedy’s Mirror and The Potter’s Wheel

the Xanax and old Fashioneds

the Old Creamery and December bees—

Where are the blue-eyed boys leaving the Academy

Where is Edith and her Mount mons pubis

I hear she gave herself a shave

after reading In the Hairy Arms of Whitman.

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 Spectra, Suburban Witchcraft, World Hunger Mag, Don't Submit!, Horror Sleaze Trash, and The Gorko Gazette. Twitter @damon_hubbs