Blood Sport

I sits my life away on the sidelines of ‘em rings, jeering and cheering his every move, I see’s the past thirty years flicker us by, fuckin’ clown-riddle of jabs and jaunts. Faithful, did I worshipped him every moment. Every shimmy of his plexus, every damned curve of his fist, every flight shift of his toes. Now I see’s my life as his shadow, them Peter pan hokey’ poke reflections- all my win’s is been his, all my lose’s been his too, all his. Funny... he never asked for my racket, my gushin’ prayer’s, he never even spoken it. How easy it is for them God-men to forget us vapor, ‘us’ is small men. I is just his foil, his side-dish that he carries to all them shows. I is what them fancy folk’s calls his carriage.

All I am is the mouth to his poundin’ fist, none of ‘em gets it, me neither. There ain’t even a name for what I do, what I spent my life doin’. He be the leader they all worship and scream themselves silly over, and I is just one more chump who can’t run off him. He gives me a restin’ place in his shadow, and i rested there and i ain't a never stopped. That shadow is sheltered us both- but now its is all fadin’, even the darkness…and all we doin’ is float about in a vacuum. Today we is nothing but two black- old farts smutting in the past he is created and is I swimmin’ in.

He, now is the ‘fallen giant’, they all whisper’s and looks at his shakin’ bones, and all em “tch tch tch” aint’ worth a farthin’ shit to boss, he still says he is “prettier” than anything that walked this damn earth and that mean everything will work’ out. Them “ugly” don’t got nowhere to go, says boss. “Has been” they say, them sodder’s... “But there was a time when he could really knock ‘em down”, them shit-faced smurfs ain’t got no clue. So I is the self- appointed “black-boy” cheerleader, that dances behind his-self. I is who they never see’s, but they hears…oh they hears me al’ right, my bullshit bravado when boss was takin’ em hits, my lion roars when he creamed every sucker in the ring, I is belled his every fight he ever fought.

I is the one who nobody knows, who is lovin’ him most… I is who he makes me, when he’s jabbin’ em jerks- I is ‘Muhammad on the mountain’, when he falls it flat- I is Judas.

“Move em up on boss”
“You show that big-ugly ape, you the man”
“Buck up boss, you now gonna whoop the ‘ugly’ off-a him”
“You’s is a gonna bury him up deep, now boss-deep, deep, deep boss- six feet under deep”

I is spent all my time always a yellin’ and ramblin’. I has rided on his heart thumpin’, through his cage-bear breath, every drop of blood that a' falls, is me. I was born’d the day he was born’d- one of us inside the ring and one outside. And I died the day he died, again in the ring…the smack- crack of his knuckles, only I heard- and now we is both outside.

Today boss and I, we fumbles along the side-walks and some of them white- folk still sees him, but he’s a stopped lookin’ long time ago.
No more does we float like a butterfly, no longer does we sting like a bee.
Boss, he sits and laughs about them’ glory days- the prettiest one of em’ all he always calls his-self, “true boss, true that is” I says. Today we both sits in the same chair, he’s is a little older than I, he’s is a little weaker than I- but still I sits lower. I take out all them ol’ pictures and papers and string them pearls for him, I sing him all his songs, still I sing his songs…

When he cracks his knuckles I pipe… “Whoa boss, now don’cha scare me now, them rocks is gonna break walls , they is”

When he fries an egg I strut “Boss them eggs gots’ ta be them greatest eggs is ever been made”
When he stumbles over his cane to the bathroom I babble “Boss yous’ is still- a dancin’, them feet just aint a gonna stop, never”

When we is eating cake I pep him “Them black cake boss- “devil cake”, we’s a still eating them “devil cakes””


Folks call’d me his lap dog, they never sees how much more I is to boss. I is the slave, caught by his shadow, I is. I ask’d to be his man…and boss never did say them “no’s” to me. His past is mine, he's a given it to me: I’ been in his body and fought his fights- all of them is my fight’s too, His right hook, his left hook …all is my damn punches.

Them tiny scores of his life I is kept and I is keepin', he never needed them angel scribes to hold out them’ lists to the Lord, all I ever did was write them damned lists. Stupid ass’ money-men today say it’s all a “blood sport”! All humanitarian shit, they sass us with. None of ‘em had no problem sending them little white boys to kill with ‘em guns, they stupid shit’s thinks metal ain’t blood.

Boss he always says that boxing ain’t no “blood sport”- its what’s is makin’ us human. He say’s we all is’ come into the world fists locked, screaming for a fight. He’s a just fought his one, without all ‘em lies. Without all ‘em “Big’ people tellin’ him how to jab and bounce…He’s is fought em’ all in plain sight to his time.

He’s is fought ‘em fair and he’s is fought ‘em straight…
And he's is still a' fightin'...
and so I is still a fightin' .