Category Archives: Bob Hicok

1960, Michigan

Poem – 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 lawn, had three children, painted the house twice, fixed the furnace, overcame an addiction to blue pills, read Spinoza … Continue reading

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Poem – 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 longer resembles an ad for Jell-O pudding, people thought it was chocolate pudding for years, so thick … Continue reading

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Poem – 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 horrible it was, how little there was to say about how horrible it was. People wrote, called, mostly … Continue reading

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Poem – 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 is why I think of beanies, those hats that would spin a young head into the clouds. … Continue reading

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Poem – 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 on a horse tethered to a pole that centered its revolving universe. Pacing the halls, he’d … Continue reading

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Poem – 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 big as roses filled with the commotion of spring. Not long ago he was a man who … Continue reading

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Poem – 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 in hand as the window beckons with hills of yellow grass. In Da Vinci, the blue robed apostle … Continue reading

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