True, For the Most Part by Steve Denehan

I’m not racist but…
he droned on
I listened
at what I guessed
were the right times

he told me about his promotion
his new car
recent and upcoming holidays
before asking
if I could lend him some money

he fed me old jokes
intellectual psychobabble
peppered with obscure references

we had known each other
for a long time
he had talked and I had listened
for a long time

I had not expected
not even considered
that I might have had
a breaking point
but I did
and it came
from the center of the earth
up through me
in a roaring fury

leading me to do
what I had thought of doing
for years
what most people would have done
eventually, and so

his limbs are in desolate parts
of the canal
his torso is in a bog hole
still sinking probably
his head is ash
and his voice
is still in my fucking ears

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