I Almost Killed Him


It would have been easy to snuff him,
a broken cigar in a dirty ashtray.
I had him by the scruff,
bent backward over the rail.
His jaw was already broken.

His whiskey breath was no excuse,
he had said what he decided to say.
I had just trampled his foot
and he was already on his way to jail,
but the wrong words in anger were spoken.

Irish temper flared hot, Irish knuckles scraped,
and he got the worst of it quick,
before he knew he had lost the fight.
His screams made him understand
there is always someone more hardcore.

Then the fool made the mistake of his death -
he suggested a body part to lick.
There was no choice to be made,
his personal Armageddon at hand,
one more blink and he would blink no more.

Then my eyes caught my eye
in the mirror over the bar.
Was it a killer I was looking at,
hot eyes watching from the glass?
The thought hit me like a frozen brick.

A life behind bars was no life at all,
I had plans that were going to take me far.
Crowd’s cat-calling was twelve hot seconds of noise.
This was Life’s biggest exam to pass -
I may not be smart, but I got it pretty quick.

He would keep breathing, I held back,
heaving him over the bar ended the fight.
We heard a low moan then all was still.
I had to dodge an aggravated assault beef
but murder two would not be hung on my head.

Don’t get me wrong, I am no stranger to rage,
I was covering my own self all right.
Three steps later I was out the door.
Breathing clean air and quiet with relief
I kicked up my heels and I fled.

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