Tommy Burns is the guy who he won
the heavyweight championship from,
and this poem is about this fight,
and it's called A Great Maltese Cat
Toying With a White Mouse, which is how a reporter described
this fight.
It's broken into two separate sonnets.
The first one--
What I told the reporter--
I have no doubt about the outcome after the first round,
the only surprise was how long Tommy Burns stayed on his feet.
He was a game man and showed no inclination whatsoever to quit.
My fists were better in every round
and I landed punches I thought would bring him down,
but like a great pachyderm, he refused to stop.
And because he was so game, I was
glad the police ended the fight.
I wanted to be heavyweight champion,
not injure Burns seriously.
What I really meant--
That man made me chase him from Texas
to England, all the way to Australia,
before he would fight me.
Four flusher, he didn't win the title,
he just happened to be white and in the right place,
like somebody striking gold.
I put him down, but gently, in the first round
so you'd know what was to come after he
got his knee off the canvas.
Once he collected himself, I bruised him with my right
and talked to him all the while--
walk right into them, Tommy, straight left to the hook.
That's a boy, Tommy, straight right to the cheek.
Take your medicine nicely.