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Recorded for Poem-a-Day, May 10, 2017.
About this Poem 

“I was vacuuming when I realized I don't like vacuuming. So I stopped and wrote this poem. It's a protest poem against vacuuming.”
—Bob Hicok

The Big Book of Therapy

If you think of humans as rare
as snowflakes, your world
is constantly melting.

If you think of humans as essential
to keeping dogs happy,
someone will always want
to buy you a beer.
 

Copyright © 2017 by Bob Hicok. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on May 10, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

Copyright © 2017 by Bob Hicok. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on May 10, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

Bob Hicok

Bob Hicok

Bob Hicok was born in 1960. His poetry collection This Clumsy Living (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2007) was awarded the 2008 Bobbitt Prize from the Library of Congress. 

by this poet

poem

A little bit of hammering
goes a long way toward making
the kind of noise I want my heart
to look up to—or have you ever
gone into a woods and applauded the light
that fights its way to the ground,
and the shadows, and the explosions
of feathers where blue jays
have been

2
poem
A few hours after Des Moines
the toilet overflowed.
This wasn't the adventure it sounds.

I sat with a man whose tattoos
weighed more than I did.
He played Hendrix on mouth guitar.
His Electric Ladyland lips
weren't fast enough
and if pitch and melody
are the rudiments of music,
this was just
memory, a body
poem

I don't have much time. I'm an important person
to chickadees and mourning doves, whose feeder 
was smashed last night by a raccoon. Soon 
I'll be wielding duct tape, noticing the dew, 
wanting to bathe in it, hoping the awkwardness 
of yesterday (three instances of people talking