Poetry About Failing Over and Over Again
Past Bob Hicok
The best chore I had was moving a stone
from ane side of the route to the other.
This required a permit which required
a ransom. The bribe took all my salary.
Yet considering I hadn't finished the job
I had no bacon, and to pay the bribe
I took a job moving the stone
the other way. Considering the official
wanted his ransom, he gave me a let
for the second job. When I pointed out
that the work would be best completed
if I did zero, he complimented
my encephalon and wrote a letter of the alphabet
to my employer suggesting promotion
on stationery bearing the wings
of a raptor spread in flight
over a mount smaller than the bird.
My boss, fearing my intelligence,
paid me to sleep on the sofa
and take lunch with the official
who required a bribe to keep anything
from being done. When I told my parents,
they wrote my brother to come habitation
from university to be slapped
on the back of the caput. Dutifully,
he arrived and bowed to receive
his instruction, at which signal
sense entered his body and he asked
what I could do by way of a job.
I pointed out there were stones
everywhere trying not to motion,
all it took was a little gumption
to be the man who didn't move them.
It was harder to explicate the intricacies
of not obtaining a permit to not
do this. Just yesterday he got upwards
at dawn and shaved, as if the lack
of hair on his confront has anything
to practice with the appearance of nutrient
on an empty tabular array.
"After working sixty hours once again for what reason" from Indisposition Diary, by Bob Hicok, ©2004. All rights are controlled by the University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, PA 15260. Used by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Printing.
Source: Insomnia Diary (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2004)
Poet Bio
Bob Hicok is the author of several collections of poems. He in one case worked in the automotive die industry and endemic his ain business, Progressive Technology. He has also taught artistic writing at Western Michigan University and Virginia Tech. When asked by interviewer Laura McCullough about the relationship betwixt restraint and revelation in his work, Hicok replied, "Considering I don't know where a poem is headed when I start, information technology seems that revelation has to play a central part in the poems, that what I'one thousand nearly consistently doing is trying to understand why something is on my mind. . . . Maybe writing is nothing more than an inquiry into presences." See More By This Poet
More By This Poet
Learning to swim
At forty-8, to be given water,
which is most of the world, given life
in water, which is near of me, given ease,
which is virtually of what I lack, hither, where walls
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as...
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Stomp
I come habitation,
anxiety about to drain
from aroused stomping.
"Boy!" says Mom.
"Quit making all that racket."
But what does she await
when, day afterward twenty-four hours,
haters sling words at me
like jagged stones
designed to split my peel?
I retreat to my room,
collapse on the bed,
count, "One. Two....
Nowhere Else to Go
Plow off the lights.
Wear another layer.
(Sounds like a dad.)
(Sounds like a mom.)
You say manus-me-down.
I say retro.
Walk.
Bike.
Walk some more than.
Recycle.
(See what I did there,
bike—recycle?)
Your name in Sharpie
on a good water bottle.
Backpack. New habits.
No thanks, don't demand a purse.
What else.
Oh yep.
Tell 10 friends
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A wishbone branch falls
from my Grandma Thelma'due south oak
for me.
What exercise you know near magic? e1 asks.
Due east bends e erstwhile trunk down, turns
the wishbone branch into
a cantankerous, places information technology around my neck.
I am strapped at the Black River's right shoulder,
remembering my...
Another Antipastoral
I want to put down what the mountain has awakened.
My mouthful of grass.
My curious tale. I desire to stand nevertheless but find myself moved patch by patch.
There's a bleat in my throat. Words fail me here. Can you lot understand? I...
russelllormeaving.blogspot.com
Source: https://www.poetryoutloud.org/poem/after-working-sixty-hours-again-for-what-reason/
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