Sean Mullin


Villagers follow viceroys to the pits

counting on magistrates to pull their triggers.

Did you compete in The Empire State

Games? Championship windbreakers

awarded in sailing or snooker. Recliners

stitched in rows of sewing machines.

Messy start to the century. I preferred

being a doctor to an assassin when

we played Medicine Wars. Saving friends

suited me better than drilling enemies

in the head with burgundy blow-up balls.

Awfully messianic of me sure, but snowballs

were a different story. I had to nail a few

of them on the way back to the infirmary

where I’d give my boys a second chance

so they’d select me for their foxholes.

I got your back’s some single sex crap.

You’re on my back’s some double sex shit.

Noble Royal Confrontation, Romans and

Barbarians. There’s a piece of crater

in a stained glass window but Abiquiu,

New Mexico’s more like being on the moon

than that sanctuary’s tribute to Apollo.

The third astronaut only got to orbit;

the other two spotlights touched down.

I gave up team sports for 26.2, later had to

give up the classic distance too. Damn

degenerative cartilage. American Indians

got the flu in The Gulf so Sam turned

weary volunteers purple by sending them

to serve out their tours in Düsseldorf.

Southwestern veterans raced back home

on-the-incurable-range to feed their patient

horses apples. Stick a pebble in your lip

if you’re thirsty. Endure, since water’s scarce

up here. At least there’re golf courses for pre-

mature retirement. Earl Campbell reminded us

good ole boys come in all persuasions.

Karl Malone’s a-truckin’, Billy Sims chews

tall grass in bib-overalls. All ya gotta do’s

put a little pinch between your cheek & gum.

Spit Skoal Bandits on the beach in tight shorts.

36” thighs: the size of my waist these days

because I’ve been knocking a few too many

back lately. Tear-away jerseys busted up

The Steel Curtain at The Astrodome.

Mean Joe Greene said The Tyler Rose was

the toughest to tackle. Hey kid, Have a Coke

Ad as a child and a habit as a pre-teen.

The rush for fame should make your parents

smile. Tell them to live vicariously through

someone else’s locker room tunnel. A one-man

demolition team’s a whole lot to handle. Poor Earl’s

now afflicted with spinal stenosis. What happened

to that Bum’s Oilers? Is your boss radical enough

to doff his cowboy hat and confess he smoked

peyote with Taos tribes? They called him Big

White, Small Bow hunting elk off the reservation

What is “Poetics Theater”?

L. S. Asekoff / Jennifer Bartlett / Michelle Brulé / Sean Mullin / Jennifer Stockdale / Rodrigo Toscano / Keith Wahle / Matt Reeck amerikin faggit poim; Ode to /u/

The Last Toast