Bill Grace Poems

The trouble with reading good poetry
Is that if you write it at all unless very gifted
The poverty is clear
The greater power of others so apparent
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That first semester in Berkeley
Four months was not enough to separate from home
The job had not yet happened
Thanks to the Church Divinity School of the Pacific there was food and a room.
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If my teachers are correct
Shakespeare cared most about his poetry
We know this from his efforts to preserve it
The plays were a cast away effort to earn a buck.
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In South Texas it is not uncommon
To see the memorials the highway has claimed
Not that the victims may not have been on some errant quest for fame
The issue is not blame but memory
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Garfield’s poster that reads:
“The guy with the most toys at the end wins”
Is theology not humor
Many if not most will agree
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That class produced four full colonels that I know of
The one we would have elected class president
Ended up in Leavenworth on a bad rap by his wife
I have seen the old photograph of us at the Chaplain School
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While we starve for rain in Texas
Great New York will shut its subways
Even New Jersey’s casinos will close
Reminded again how little
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In the McDonalds at the Walmart
As I wolf my plastic food
I study the happy mural of 50’s life
That tells so many lies it is worth the challenge to count them
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I watched the ice cream boy
Give the self proclaimed deaf mute
Half an hour’s wage at where he worked when he was panhandled
Marveled at the joy with which he presented three dollar bills
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By age eight my favorite brand was Viceroy
The third time Dad caught me smoking
This man of few words was moved to poetic intensity
“Bill, the next time I catch you smoking –
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