Exercising Haunts

poems by

Rob Vance

40 pages, $13 (+ shipping)

Projected Release Date: January 2026

An Advance Sale Discount price of $7.50 (+ shipping) is available HERE prior to press time. This price is not available anywhere else or by check. The check price is $12.50/book (which includes shipping & sales tax) and should be sent to: Main Street Rag, 12180 Skyview Drive, Edinboro, PA 16412. 

PLEASE NOTE: Ordering in advance of the release date entitles the buyer to a discount. It does not mean the book will ship before the date posted above and the price only applies to copies ordered through the Main Street Rag Online Bookstore.

Rob Vance is both a writer and visual artist. A late bloomer as a writer, his first 30 years were spent in the realm of visual media, while recently his focus has changed to writing. His work draws on his journeys as a runner, triathlete, husband, and world traveler. His written work has appeared in: Atlanta Review, Chiron Review, Hawai’i Pacific Review, The Hollins Critic, Poetry South, and Sport Literate. Rob holds an MFA in Poetry from Queens University of Charlotte and an BA in Creative Writing from Old Dominion University. Connect with Rob at robertlvance.com.

Though Exercising Haunts is Vance’s first published book, these are poems crafted by a master. I lost count of how many times I thought I wish I’d written that. These poems carry universal themes, and yet, these poems are so unique only Vance could’ve written them. The list of lines I’d steal is long, such as this from his poem “Entertainment Tonight“: “for longer than anyone will remember/our closest star has/masked the light of billions.” ~Malaika King Albrecht

Vance’s poems have a timeless sincerity and versatility of form. They speak of literal and metaphysical cardio, the inner life, our ordinary longings, victories, and close calls. Exercising Haunts shimmers with the big questions everyone asks, that few voice aloud. Reading this book is like going for a run with a friend who sets the pace, points out the birds, and makes you appreciate even the mud. ~Rebecca G. Biber, author of Technical Solace

At once pedaling furiously and beatifically still, these are poems that will arrest you with their observations of life and death in motion. With a careful eye, Rob Vance celebrates the way that human and nonhuman bodies sail through air and water—bruised and scraped, inner workings exposed to the elements. Then, silence: a bicycle sits, stiffening; the carcass of a buck rests beside a trail. Give these poems your attention; they will reward you richly. ~Shou Jie Eng

The New Part

on my hand-me-down bike, a speedometer,
reflected brilliant skill with its chrome casing,
lifted its orange needle toward speeds not
unlike dad’s raised arms, who sees me athletic
for the first time. A birthday trophy displayed
with the same pride as a JV pin on my brother’s
letterman jacket. What fueled my descent
of the one hill in Mobile, I don’t know. My
pipe-cleaner legs pumped the bike pedals
like I was stealing all the bases. Hands gripped
handlebars with the same control as a swing
that sent a brother’s ball out of the park.
Such a furious push to test how fast I rode, faster
than my brother or his laughable car. Dad
watched my skinny frame teetering on the banana
seat as I pedaled like a report card depending on
breaking through the sound barrier. My words,
his look, frozen mid-air as I shouted
my exact speed toward his flying heart.

Individual Medley

After: “Swimming at Okazaki,”
by Toyohara Chikanobu

To block chimes of arriving email, I slip into deaf
waters. She follows into this private space, her hair
in a swim cap. The pool, whose surface winks
with an unjudging eye, witnesses each swim.

Long fingers and stubby toes splash syllables, words
between lanes. We might converse, lap after lap,
in a language as ephemeral as the waves. Thoughts
carved into liquid with electric light — only to be

swallowed whole in a kick turn by the pool’s
edge. Every stroke speeds to the workout’s end. I lag,
unsure if butterfly or breaststroke would clarify
my intent on this day or any to follow. This routine

I love: she leaving scrawls of bubbles, fading
pages, where voices remain unwelcome.

Entertainment Tonight

After: “Fireworks at Ryōgoku Bridge,” One Hundred Famous Views of Edo
by Utagawa Hiroshige

At the motel window, starlight is all
wrong. Each constellation’s patterns
no longer what I remember as a boy.
The arrangements changed over the years —
that bear shape might have been
a cluster of club moss, the first amoeba.
The turning sky’s evolution. Life’s
instructions twinkling from above
to the TV newsfeed, sparklers waved
in the night. The rhythmic click & pop
of channels launching — Watch now! A
superpower wars with the Ukraine.
Taylor Swift & Katy Perry do the same —
patterns not unfamiliar to many. Call it
the status quo — the Starship’s rapid unscheduled
disassembly, again! It’s a cop-out to shout,
the world has gotten worse. No matter
where you travel, it’s the same. Each day,
for longer than anyone will remember
our closest star has
masked the light of billions.