Patton
The car stinks of booze.
Six kids clamor over the Rambler’s tailgate
sprawl in the rear, rest their heads
on the old lab’s forgiving belly, headed home
until the man slams on the brakes
U-turns into the movie theater.
Please don’t do this, says the woman beside him.
They’re gonna see what that fuckin’ war was about,
shuting her up, slurring
and six kids trip over sticky carpet in the dark
climb over knees and laps into the middle of the second row.
It’s late, 9:30 or 10:00, and General Patton is already deep
into North Africa, Technicolor entrails, colossal severed legs,
imagined stench of battle mingling with cigarette smoke
from across the aisle.
We will cut out their living guts and use them to grease
the treads of our tanks, Patton roars.
Shuffle of candy in the box—someone eating Sno-Caps.
Chocolate, never-ending blood. A child chews a thumbnail,
weeps into her sleeve.
Patton is finally a broken old man.
C’mon kids, we’re leaving, the man calls before the credits roll.
Grace Massey is a poet, classical ballet and Baroque dancer, gardener, and socializer of feral cats. Grace was an editor for many years and has degrees in English from Smith College and Boston University. Her poems have been nominated for Best of the Net and have been published in numerous journals, including Quartet, Thimble, Lily Poetry Review, One Art, and RockPaperPoem. Her chapbook A Future with Bromeliads was a finalist in the Moonstone Arts Center and the Jessie Bryce Niles chapbook contests and is available from River Glass Books, https://riverglassbooks.com/. Grace lives in Newton, Massachusetts. Visit her website at gracemasseypoet.com/