ADRIAN ERNESTO CEPEDA
When Bumaye was Beautiful
Still floating like a butterfly
from your red glove filled
with fists of love just ask
the Foreman, Liston and Frazier
side stepping in that ring like
a dancer, two step jab romancer
still stinging boxers endlessly.
We can still hear the bell
and all the raps from your tongue
and even under Cosell microphone
loves the rhymes of your charming spell.
And even the Beatles wanted to get in the ring
And not even The Man of Steel could never
And on Different Strokes the way you beat
on the phone without even landing a hit.
And because the power of your voice,
when I could only stammer with shame.
And to my skinny frame as I worshiped
your Adonis frame. I may have stuttered
every other world but even I knew your name.
As the camera flashed immortality
your battles were more than just a fist in
the face full of game. From behind witnessing
your sweating arms raised to infinity
with gold belt crowning you def to divinity.
And your still floating like a butterfly
and punching syllables fighting
to knock the words out with a smile
softer than Clay, echoing Cassius
like Jesus on the cross even in defeat
your bouts were my religion even
in my tears you never lost. side stepping
in that ring like a dancer, two step jab
romancer, still stinging boxers endlessly.
And when I say Ali, still weaving
your bobbing head like a champion
as you mumble with greatness—“the greatest was me.”