PATTON

A man is walking down my block

His face is red

His lips are dry

A field of grass sinks past his feet

I saw him screaming

Why he stopped, I don’t know

He doesn’t move

He’s dead on the soil

And now the town is walking by

His hands are bones

The world keeps spinning

His shoes are gone

I’m watching from my window

His body’s dust

And boys are playing baseballs in that field

The wind’s coming now

I’m drinking out of a wine glass

The man is gone

And the newspapers ink bleeds through my white shirt

My chest is stained

What was his name?