Sally Forth

Hey, remember The Fourth of July, 2003? We don't, but found this in our archives:

Fourth of July Fourthiness.

Independence is on the march, patriots.

& Recently . . .

Kurt Cobain's Ghost with an Invitation to a Fourth of July Picnic and Fireworks by Angela Genusa

"B.L.T.": A Review by Will Layman

Ten Tiny Poems by Brian Beatty

Angry Words from a Gnome Who to This Day Continues to Think the Human Genome Project Was Actually The Human Gnome Project by David Ng

Key Party, N.Y.C., Circa Always by William K. Burnette

A Day on the Phone with Mythological Norse Firewarrior, Bringer of Storms by Aaron Belz

Polish Fact

Military Manpower:
10,354,978 (2003 est.)
[Army, Navy(!), & Air Force]

Learn a Foreign Tongue!

Learn Many Languages!
Meat-stuffed pasta pocket:
Ravioli (Italian)
Wonton (Cantonese)
Kreplach (Yiddish)
Pierogi (Polish)
Pelmeni (Russian)

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Friday, May 21, 2004   |    Poetry & Lyric

‘My Poem’ by Karl Malone

by Amy Shearn

“People don’t know this about me, but I’ve changed since I moved out here to L.A., to Newport Beach. I’ve become a writer, thanks to my mom. I’ll sometimes spend hours just writing, writing, writing. I’ll be at the beach and just feel so inspired.”

                            —Karl Malone, Hoop magazine

So, now that I moved to L.A., I just sit at the beach and get all inspired.
I write and write and write, until I get really tired!

Sometimes the night is dark and stormy and it’s really bad.
Sometimes I feel really, really sad.

Things have really changed. I shudder in the cold, damp rain.
I’m so sad I cry, sometimes on TV, so all the world can know my pain.

Karl Malone just sits on the porch with Karl Malone
And sometimes also with my friend Gary Payton, and smokes cigars. O! I am so alone.

The ocean is so sparkling beautiful and blue.
And I think, I still play okay, but in two years I’ll be forty-two.

But it’s cool. Sometimes when I dunk on someone, and scream real loud,
and kick their ankle or their balls, then I feel kinda proud.

And when Steve Nash or some other goddamned pussy
cries about their broke tooth or knee or is getting real fussy,

I say the special words coach gave me, a koan,
and I think of the angels up near the moon.

I’m still all ripped, my fans, don’t fret. Soon you’ll see me in some military movie,
saving POWs and shit, kicking terrorist ass! Totally kicking serious ass!

Don’t listen to no one saying Kobe or Shaq be playing better than me, cuz
that’s totally whack.
I was hurt, you know, goddammit! But now I’m totally back.

God, I really really really really hope we win the championship. God damn!

But then I think about how good I am, and get a little shiver.
Don’t forget why they call me the Mailman (cuz I always deliver)! ;)

Life is really fucked up on some days,
but you got to remember to just look at the beautiful ocean waves.

P.S. I tried to make this poem into the shape of a basketball but GP’s computer’s all messed up.

Amy Shearn's work has appeared or is forthcoming in Salt Hill, Passages North, 3rdBed, Lyric Review, Surgery of Modern Warfare,, GutCult, and elsewhere. Also, she can touch her nose with her tongue.