Damon Hubbs

Furious 

I’m playing bocce ball
with Nadia and she can’t stop 
talking about hotpants, kombucha 
and kitsching the Cantos. 
Then she tells me about buying 
a speargun at DICK’s and how the leopard 
at the zoo in Berlin has a big, glittering 
mouth. My first attempt to place the jack 
is disastrous. “A fall from grace,” Nadia 
says. She’s eating a furious vulva 
which is really just
bittersweet chocolate 
with pink peppercorns and Hawaiian 
sea salt. There’s a sign in the park 
that says Keep Off the Grass. 
Some kids took a Sharpie to it 
so now it says
Keep OFF ERING the Grass.

Nadia says I’m the last female 
hysteric and I can’t disagree
because she knows every inside joke. 
I’m corrosively cute. 
Makeup tarred.
Dress feathered.
I’m the young female experience, 
a curated collection
a braincase ballerina.
I once fucked a guy 
whose dick was a cardboard cutout 
of the Eiffel Tower. 
Time gives it meaning, he said. 
Who can argue with that?