Nov/Dec 2019 • Vol. XLI No. 6 PoetryNovember 2, 2019 |

After You

It’s not too late to schlep water in a bucket to your sink. Eat only the potatoes and carrots you can grow. Make your own clothes from hemp and clouds. Go no farther in a day than you can walk or convince a river to carry you on its back. Hunt wild chickens or tame bear for dinner. Fall down, break your leg, and set it yourself between two branches of oak. Accept the clock of the sun. Turn a candle and the shadows of your hands into TV, the story of a haunted moon into TV, sitting quietly before the debate of crickets into TV. A little plowing, digging, rooting for grubs, spinning cloth, tanning hides, felling trees, scything, midwifing, burying your own dead never hurt anyone more than a lot, so let’s go. I’ll send my 4Runner to finishing school if you write a Dear John letter to oil: Not to be crude but to hell with you. On the count of three, never use electricity again. One, two, two, two, two

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Bob Hicok's most recent book, Elegy Owed, will be published in the spring of 2013 by Copper Canyon Press.

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It’s not too late to schlep water in a bucket to your sink. Eat only the potatoes and carrots you can grow. Make your own clothes from hemp and clouds. […]

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