Get to Phoenix

He’s telling me
about his grandfather
a bare-knuckle fighter
who used to box
with a handkerchief
tied around his balls.

Later in a suit
big flapping striped thing
and with the same handkerchief
in a breast pocket
he’d go to dance halls
dance slow dances
and hold girls close.

I can hardly hear him.
I’m running to the bathroom
and grasping my partner’s porcelain waist.
I’m throwing up a river
as behind me the camera clicks.