Poetry: Liberal Arts by Damon Hubbs

Liberal Arts

party at the pink house tonight

Arty there’s a party invited us

he’s like Carl the Janitor in The Breakfast Club

the eyes and ears of the institution

this particular institution in upstate NY, not Shermer, Il

Arty buys us 40s when we play the corner at Circle Park

circles don’t have corners but we’re not very good at math

liberal arts college in September

but there’s time to kill so we drive around

 

and around like we’re in The Last Teen Film.

A giallo sunset slides off Eighth St. and into Sand

“End times,” you say, grinding the stick shift

we are comets of cool appraisal outshining

the schema of small town, the sunset, the end times.

I smell Fanta on your lips when you say the only reason

you chose that school is because the Necronomicon

is said to be sealed up in a tunnel under Tupelo Pond

 

we pass the Metropolitan Diner, the Neptune Diner

a 24-hour gym planked between an ATM and Rod & Reel.

The brooding German exchange student is in the Met

broodily making plans to exchange body fluids with a girl

with artistic hair who we can’t make out / maybe Monica / could be Kim

he’s smoking like a jaunty SS officer.

We are comets of cool appraisal outshining

 

the drunk guy outside the Old Spanish Tavern

trying to stuff his girlfriend’s (?) poodle into a yellow Planet Aid bin

It’s 5 pm, too early to do the drop

we watch summer tourists get stuck in the Arby’s drive-thru

pick-up truck and RV camper foothilled / pedal / to the metal

you say there’s a clam shack in New England resembling a giant clam box

 

just us now on the corner and it’s noiseless

the crossing guard’s vest like Razz Apple Fun Dip

but there’s no children, no traffic, just us

and the reflective vest lures crows from the trees.

The crossing guard swats at the black birds with his STOP paddle.

But they peck and peck and each peck is like the stab

of a broken heart

Damon Hubbs writes poems about Richard Scarry, Italo disco, and girls who cry at airports. He's the author of three chapbooks: Coin Doors & Empires (Alien Buddha Press), The Day Sharks Walk on Land (Alien Buddha Press) and Fly Creek (forthcoming from Naked Cat Publishing). He lives in New England.