[04/29/2026]

[POETRY]

My Life in the Ghost of Reggie Bush

by Max Tullio

It is 2011 and Reggie Bush is holding me. 
“Did you know I rushed for over 3,000 yards in college?” 
“No,” I say. “But I love you anyway.” 
“I want to take klonopin until I am poisoned enough to die,” he says. “Trojan yellow colored ones,” he says. 
I ask if he has a condom. A Trojan. 
“No foreplay? We could watch football? It’s Thursday” Reggie says. 
“We could watch comedy too,” I say, even though I hate laughing. 
I tell Reggie that in ten years there will be new stand up comics in Brooklyn and they will like football and a senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders 
And they all will know he deserved that Heisman. 
They’re what we will call reactionary liberals. They will defend Louis C.K. “What happens to Louis?” Reggie asks 
“Something about jacking off,” I say. 
“I like to jack off,” Reggie says. “It’s how I’m so strong” he says. 
I tell him I am not like the reactionary liberals though. I never saw Louis on TV. I’m like Benjamin Button and I can travel to any time ever or live backwards or whatever. I don’t know, I never saw the movie. 
But I did see Lenny Bruce the first day he ever told a dirty joke. He’s my favorite jokester. “Wow,” Reggie says. “That’s amazing,” Reggie says. 
“Why didn’t you stop Hitler, though?” Reggie asks. 
“I forgot,” I say. “It’s a curse,” I say. “Until now,” I say. 
I ask Reggie if he knows what tantric sex is. 
“No… What is it?” 
“It’s like where you meditate or something before you fuck… I read about Sting doing it,” I say. “The wrestler?” Reggie asks. 
“No. The singer for the Police,” I say. 
“Fuck the police.” 
“Yea, ACAB,” I reply. 
“What does ACAB mean?” he asks. 
“All cops are… It’s hard to explain. In the future it’ll make sense.” 
I have chosen to be here with you, Reggie Bush, on the night they took back your Heisman Trophy, because I love you and I can hold you and not say anything at all. I can’t talk about football. 
Because I don’t know anything about football. 
“I love you,” Reggie says. 
“I love you too,” I say.
I get on my knees and put his cock in my mouth. “Look at me,” I say. 
“Do you remember the Heisman pose?” I say. 
Reggie nods. 
“One more time?” I beg. 
“I’m not made of bronze,” he says. “I’m black,” he says. 
“I know,” I say. 
Reggie lifts his knee and puts his arm out straight. He is a statue. His cock is deep in the back of my throat. 
I swallow the Heisman Trophy’s cum. 
I am a football player now.

MAX TULLIO is a writer and filmmaker based in Los Angeles. He previously worked as a cook in New York City and has lots of scars from shucking your happy hour oysters.