This is a picture I did not take

of someone else's blood, aerosoled into tiny droplets by the force of a punch and flung into the air from the smashed nose of a sixteen year old boxer who, when the fight was over, couldn't believe he'd lost - his trunks and jersey blackened with the stuff, the canvas in the ring speckled with it, even the index finger I use to press the shutter on my camera was spattered while I looked (and didn't take a picture) at how the blood had flown out of the ring dotting the scorer's table, around and perhaps on top of the fight doctor's hot dog, which sat right there, halfway between the canvas and the doctor's gloved hands, the dog and its bun already well slathered with mustard.