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Category archive for: Bob Hicok

One man band

In the dream I’m a man

who doesn’t remember dreams. A man

sitting quietly on a bench

not remembering dreams.

Pigeons ask my hands for bread

my hands don’t have but they might have

in the dreams I don’t recall. In the dream

of the poem that is the only dream

I recall, I feel the lake

formed when the river

cut off the oxbow after years

of abrading dirt to a shape that looks

from the sky like a jew’s harp

is a metaphor for wanting to be

a musical instrument. Specifically,

my elation is a clarinet, my dread

a tuba, I get the sense

there’s a band in me waiting

for someone to say, a one

and a two and a three, which is the lit fuse,

near as I can tell, of such a fine ruckus

that people get quiet and stare off

at their own little bit of nothing as if

it is everything.

from Poetry Northwest 05.1 Spring & Summer 2010More by Bob Hicok from the library

Copyright © Bob Hicok
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.