she orders lamb

excuse my French,
my grandmother says,
but that cab driver was driving
that cab
like a bat out of hell.
I look at my sister
and say, which word is French?
she shrugs,
she's sucking on a lollipop
and playing with a band aid
on her knee as we sit in the back
seat of my father's Chevrolet.
the trunk is full of luggage.
she's left boston to stay
with us for a week, or more.
she leans over the seat
and ask us if we've been good
girls and boys,
if we've been praying, if we've
been asking God to save us
from that bastard john kennedy.
we both nod yes.
your father, driving, looks
at you in the rear view mirror
and smiles.
let's stop for lunch he says.
your grandmother orders lamb
with mint jelly.