Her My Body By Bob Hicok

Her My Body about the left nipple of the woman in the bathroom. She is drying her hair, the woman whose left nipple is sore….

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The Smiths, As I Understand Them By Bob Hicok

The Smiths, As I Understand Them There’s a box at the hospital in which to deposit children unlikely to win the Nobel Prize. They cradled…

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The Maple By Bob Hicok

The Maple is a system of posture for wood. A way of not falling down for twigs that happens to benefit birds. I don’t know….

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Another Awkward Stage Of Convalescence By Bob Hicok

Another Awkward Stage Of Convalescence Drunk, I kissed the moon where it stretched on the floor. I’d removed happiness from a green bottle, both sipped…

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In The Loop By Bob Hicok

In The Loop I heard from people after the shootings. People I knew well or barely or not at all. Largely the same message: how…

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Toward Accuracy By Bob Hicok

Toward Accuracy We’re high enough that what I call fog might be cloud. Not Everest high, or Chomuolungma, “Mother Goddess of the World.” If we…

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Feeling The Draft By Bob Hicok

Feeling The Draft We were young and it was an accomplishment to have a body. No one said this. No one said much beyond “throw…

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Learning To Swim By Bob Hicok

Learning To Swim At forty-eight, to be given water, which is most of the world, given life in water, which is most of me, given…

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Translator’s Note By Bob Hicok

Translator’s Note There is a tradition in Laparone that the first man to wake each morning must sweep shadows from his porch lest night pull…

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Epithalamium By Bob Hicok

Epithalamium A bee in the field. The house on the mountain reveals itself to have been there through summer. It’s not a bee but a…

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Man Of The House By Bob Hicok

Man Of The House It was a misunderstanding. I got into bed, made love with the woman I found there, called her honey, mowed the…

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What Would Freud Say By Bob Hicok

What Would Freud Say Wasn’t on purpose that I drilled through my finger or the nurse laughed. She apologized three times and gave me a…

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Dropping The Euphemism By Bob Hicok

Dropping The Euphemism He has five children, I’m papa to a hundred pencils. I bought the chair he sat in from a book of chairs,…

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Mortal Shower By Bob Hicok

Mortal Shower I met my butt in a Pittsburgh hotel room. My face still looks like my face but not my butt, my hair no…

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Unmediated Experience By Bob Hicok

Unmediated Experience She does this thing. Our seventeen- year-old dog. Our mostly deaf dog. Our mostly dead dog, statistically speaking. When I crouch. When I…

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Duke By Bob Hicok

Duke He was hit back of the head for a haul of $15, a Diner’s Club Card and picture of his daughter in a helmet…

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O My Pa-Pa By Bob Hicok

O My Pa-Pa Our fathers have formed a poetry workshop. They sit in a circle of disappointment over our fastballs and wives. We thought they…

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A Private Public Space By Bob Hicok

A Private Public Space You can’t trust lesbians. You invite them to your party and they don’t come, they’re too busy tending vaginal flowers, hating…

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For Three Whose Reflex Was Yes By Bob Hicok

For Three Whose Reflex Was Yes Nobody I know is a god. A mother and son fall into the river’s million hands, the river’s smash…

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Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A Love Poem By Bob Hicok

Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A Love Poem My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers of my palms tell me…

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A Shopkeeper’s Story By Bob Hicok

A Shopkeeper’s Story I sell one bristle brushes. People seeking two bristle brushes I send to the guy on Amsterdam, who’s in a rush. I…

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Happy First Anniversary (In Anticipation Of Your Thirty Ninth) By Bob Hicok

Happy First Anniversary (In Anticipation Of Your Thirty Ninth) I don’t have much time. I’m an important person to chickadees and mourning doves, whose feeder…

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Prodigal By Bob Hicok

Prodigal You could drive out of this country and attack the world with your ambition, invent wonder plasmas, become an artist of the provocative gesture,…

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After Working Sixty Hours Again For What Reason By Bob Hicok

After Working Sixty Hours Again For What Reason The best job I had was moving a stone from one side of the road to the…

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In Michael Robins’s Class Minus One By Bob Hicok

In Michael Robins’s Class Minus One At the desk where the boy sat, he sees the Chicago River. It raises its hand. It asks if…

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Sudden Movements By Bob Hicok

Sudden Movements My father’s head has become a mystery to him. We finally have something in common. When he moves his head his eyes get…

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An Old Story By Bob Hicok

An Old Story It’s hard being in love with fireflies. I have to do all the pots and pans. When asked to parties they always…

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Go Greyhound By Bob Hicok

Go Greyhound A few hours after Des Moines the toilet overflowed. This wasn’t the adventure it sounds. I sat with a man whose tattoos weighed…

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Report From The Black Box By Bob Hicok

Report From The Black Box For Flaco A cooler head of lettuce prevailed, but when the actor asked his question and paused for us to…

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Calling Him Back From Layoff By Bob Hicok

Calling Him Back From Layoff I called a man today. After he said hello and I said hello came a pause during which it would…

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Full Flight By Bob Hicok

Full Flight I’m in a plane that will not be flown into a building. It’s a SAAB 340, seats 40, has two engines with propellers…

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The Semantics Of Flowers On Memorial Day By Bob Hicok

The Semantics Of Flowers On Memorial Day Historians will tell you my uncle wouldn’t have called it World War II or the Great War plus…

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By Their Works By Bob Hicok

By Their Works Who cleaned up the Last Supper? These would be my people. Maybe hung over, wanting desperately a better job, standing with rags…

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