i'm italian

sorry, she says,
after slapping
you hard across the face.
I tend to talk with my hands.
you rub your cheek
where her hand has
struck solid, leaving
a red sting.
then she punches
you in the stomach,
with a curled
left hook,
knocking the breath
out of you.
you didn't even see
it coming.
oopsie, she says,
doing the ali shuffle
in her stiletto heels.
she peppers you with
series of jabs
and right crosses
before you go down.
so sorry. there I go again.
by the way,
I'm Italian
did I tell you that?
you have to watch
what you say to me.
i sort of figured as much,
you mumble, rolling
on your side
to protect your ribs
and take an eight count.