San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly

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

with you

And not even The Man of Steel could never

destroy you

And on Different Strokes the way you beat

the Gooch

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.”