CRAWPOCALYPSO

by Rick Mullin

The marbled crayfish is a mutant species that clones itself, scientists report. The population is exploding in Europe, but the species appears to have originated only about 25 years ago. Ranja Andriantsoa for The New York Times, February 5, 2018

Met excuses aan Hank Williams.

Goodbye Zoe, whaddya know, me oh my oh,
Me gotta go throw ‘way dem books filed under “Bio”!
Frankenstein got claws ‘n’ spine, me oh my oh,
Clone of a beast gonna have some feast like Russian spy-o!
Jambalaya and a crawfish pie a la car-tay.
Eurozone gotta crustay-shone too big to par-tay!
Au revoir to the reservoir, and adieu to you all,
Ain’t no bang gonna end our thang cause it’s a-sex-ual.






Rick Mullin's newest poetry collection is Transom.

T***P AT DAVOS

by Rick Mullin

Cartoon by Patrick Chappatte, The New York Times, January 22, 2018

Bloated, he descended with the rest,
the social X-Ray plutocrats, the best
and brightest on the snowy global stage.
His speech was warmly welcomed by a few
and tolerated by their retinue.
His teleprompter did not turn a page.
And he got through, despite low expectations.
He sang in praise (eschewing other nations)
of the USA, the market surge,
and all the aliens he hopes to purge.
He finished without serious faux pas,
he left the audience in less than awe
and waddled through the press contingent, dumb
and tough. He was the ultimate sore thumb.



Rick Mullin's newest poetry collection is Transom.

THE MONSTER

by Rick Mullin


on the 200th anniversary of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein*

for Roald Hoffmann

My fame is your reflection. I am known
as Frankenstein. Well known. Prometheus Bound
shall not have half the legs that creak and groan
beneath this body I have lately found.
This bleeding mouth, these rheumy eyes impearled
in mists of the eternal night . . . how odd.
The murderer you’d hoped for is at large,
your manufactured destiny. My God,
look squarely on the bloodlust of your charge.
Do you not own the spirochete that curled
in my electrocuted heart? Am I
not yours, my friend? Or did your aim draw higher?
I’ll not apologize. I, too, aim high.
In your good name I haul this fatal fire
to the northernmost extremity of the world.


*Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus debuted on January 1, 1818, published in London by Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor & Jones.




Rick Mullin's newest poetry collection is Transom.