Your Head is Full of Clay

Elegy for an angry old  woman

Your hatred’s source, Mary Lee,

is, of course, a mystery to me.

You demand the champ's given name

 forever remain the same.

In your hate-filled world,

is it the racist flag you unfurl?

“Cassius Clay,” you say,

must forever stay.

You would strip “Ali” of all validity.

Or is it Islam you would deny,

when Mohammed you decry?

I say a person has the right to name their name.

Deny this, and you deny the freedom to become.

You would enslave, according to your lights.

But men and women will always fight those fights.

Anyway your lights are dim.

Since you cannot enslave, you choose to ooze hatred,

and ultimately must be frustrated.

Across the bar, perhaps in your cups,

you shout at me rapid-fire,

“fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you.”

Your rationality has reached its premature end.

Know this, mean Miss Mary Lee,

denier of Mohammed Ali,

that Louisville slugger is a real champeen,

Finally, a koan for thee:

By what name would you call

his daughter, Laila Ali?