Damon Hubbs

Antelope

Everything starts five minutes past the hour.

The sky is like a face that needs a fist

and when you give me the bump in Marseille

like an anarchist in the Gilded Age,

I juggle your bowling ball bombs with a smile. 

We have a wonderful day counting fisheyes at the quay.

I wear a suit with a slow leak,

you drink espresso and call me a pet name.

We cruise and crusade.

I have half a nose for these things

the mud and larva, our daily bread

how each footstep leads to La Higuera.

Remember the Corpus Christi parade

when I counted your birthmarks —one-hundred forty-eight;

you dressed in crosshairs and wore spectacles for two.

The pleasures and perils of the Thaw—

murder for treasure

like the sun’s beady eye

left us with genre expectations we couldn’t fulfill.

Now the blows come fast.

I take Dramamine, read

Céline, watch a schooner shot put the sun

watch you chase antelope

in your green notebook before our lips

slur together like brandy made from summer plums.

Damon Hubbs is a poet from New England. He's the author of the full-length collection Venus at the Arms Fair (Alien Buddha Press, 2024). Recent publications include Apocalypse Confidential, BRUISER, Farewell Transmission, The Gorko Gazette, Revolution John, Don't Submit!, Horror Sleaze Trash, & others.