Two Poems by William Greenway

Just Man 

Then Joseph her husband, being a just man,
and not willing to make her a public example,
was minded to put her away privately—Matthew 1:19
 
Having a famous father-in-law
never helped him much, hurt,
really, the way his wife kowtowed:
His will be done.
And the story of the angel in the garden
must have been hard to swallow,
though he hoped his faith would
make him a savior in her eyes.
Instead, he was squeezed out first
of a honeymoon hotel, then
a barn by kneeling oxen, the stench
of shepherds, and strangers wearing turbans.
The gold was great, yes, but what
could you do with frankincense,
and what the hell was myrrh?
Admittedly, the child turned out
better than expected, never even cried,
even looked a little like him, happy
for hours playing in the sawdust pile.
 
But then, of course, everything went wrong
at the end, and she mourned so much
she never came to him again.
Still, he must have told himself, you don’t
have to be happy, there’s no requirement,
and so he learned the contentment
of the ordinary—sunrise, steam
of breakfast, smell of shavings and sweat
in the shop—the satisfaction
of doing small things well, sawing
studs, sanding the rough grain smooth,
nailing one piece of wood
across another.

Tenderhooks 
a found poem
 
My students live in houses
on the second floor, are just passengers
on the card game of life,
and are sometimes left dangling in left field.
They’ve had their brains washed out
and don’t see the umpire’s new clothes.
 
And this innocence complicates even
their young love, is why they put
their women on pedastools,
don’t see why we shouldn’t mount
the rear end of a dear as well as the front,
see the partner’s misery in the other half
of a felationship, see towers and trees
as phalanx symbols, need two to tangle,
forget to include diaphragms
in their research papers, and thus
take love for granite.
 
But they also know, from the standpoint
of observation, that we have become so content
on making snap judgments
that we often make in haste,
that sex is becoming more freely practiced
by the general public to satisfy
their sexual needs and desires,
and that almost half of all pregnancies
occur within six months of intercourse.
That William B. Yeast gave rise
to modern poetry. That Chaucer took the nut
of love, cracked it, and laid the meat on the table.
That it is necessary that society abandon
its prejudices, and behave respectably
under the pretense that homosexuals
are human beings.
 
They use their brains and not just their bronze.
They do not go Gentile into that good night.
And if they have to shoot, they only shoot
the fat. They know
the cloud with the silver lining
will pull through. They are Godscent.

William Greenway has published several books of poetry. Among them are Pressure Under Grace, Breitenbush Books, 1982; Where We've Been, Breitenbush Books, 1987; How the Dead Bury the Dead, University of Akron Press, 1994; Simmer Dim, University of Akron Press, 1999; Ascending Order, University of Akron Press, 2003; Fishing at the End of the World, Word Press, 2005; Everywhere At Once, University of Akron Press, 2008; Selected Poems, Future Cycle Press, 2014. 

His poems have been published in Poetry, Negative Capability, Piedmont Literary Review, American Poetry Review, Prairie Schooner, Poetry Northwest, Poet & Critic, Southern Poetry Review, and many other poetry magazines. Some of his awards include the Oklahoma Poetry Book of the Year Award, the Laura Krout Memorial Poetry Award, the Larry Levis Editor's Prize, the Open Voice Poetry Award, and others. He was the 1994 Georgia Author of the Year.