Cassius Clay by Basquiat
- Cassius Clay By Basquiat1982, acrylic & oil paintstick on canvas
I’m pretty!I shook up
the world! Clay shouts to the announcer
after trouncing Sonny Liston—
the next day he will turn Ali.
Butterfly, bee—none stung
or swole carpet-red as the paint B covered
this canvas, drawing blood—not even Cassius
called out his name. Refusing to recognize
Allah—like Terrell or fool Floyd Patterson—
will get you a new haircut, whether you want one
or not. How he hounds [End Page 294]
Liston, waving his prize belt—
a noose for Sonny’s ex- con neck. Petty crook.
Ali just bout serves time himself
—title stripped like paint
—Army taking away his right to fight
when he won’t fight them Viet Cong
who’ve done him nothing wrong.
Houston, we gots a problem—will not
bow or stand when his no-longer-
name the Draft Board calls. Lords
over Liston —Get up, you bum!
—who will fall to a phantom punch 1st rd, forget
to get up. (Died, Liston did, five
years later, in Vegas, the needle in
his arm, the neon.) Ali, now he could hit you [End Page 295]
into next year— but apart from the flogging,
his flaunting, were the taunts challengers heard ringing
Uncle Tom! Come onCome on White America!
even above the ten count & crowd—his undented smile—
that smarts still.
Kevin Young, who was a Stegner Fellow at Stanford University, is author of Most Way Home, a volume of poems. He teaches creative writing and literature at the University of Georgia, Athens. A graduate of Harvard, he recently received the MFA degree at Brown University.
