you can't make a lion out of a butterfly

he was built naturally big and he was strong
he was just born into it, with oversized curls that fell over his forehead
he even had an english accent
and he was pretty if you didn't look to close
all he lacked was soul and fire
he'd never been hungry
he'd never been lonely
he'd never been anything but big and strong with oversized curls
and we worked him up the heavyweight ladder
against misfits with glass chins
and he was 26-0 when we put him in against the fifth-rank contender
a black butterball who'd been in prison twice
once for rape once for burglary, a coke head
and our boy bobby, he looked good in the first round
he had a six-inch reach on butterball
he had youth, size, strength, perfectly trained
but butterball came out in the second
and started landing shots from the outfield
our boy covered up like a girl
backed against the ropes, hid under his arms
and in the third round it was the same
and in the fourth, butterball got to his chin
and our boy bobby fell down, right off, took the count
and he got right up at eleven
none of us could talk to him in the dressing room
he sat on the edge of the table and said, "i'm going to take up acting,"
butterball had told me, right after the fight
"that guy couldn't race half a hard-on in a high class whorehouse,"
"go take your shower bobby," somebody in the room said
when he walked into the shower room, we looked at each other
there were three or four of us
"well shit," somebody said
and that's what it was