WILLIAM SEATON
NAMESAKE
The youngest son, a good boy, stayed at home.
He’d left school once he learned to read and add.
The closest that he ever came to wealth
was saving each utility receipt,
but always Uncle Bill was spirit-rich,
if whiskey stashed in every room were cash.
He never dressed but in bib overalls
and skipped the shirt when summer’s sun was hot.
He’d sit upon the toilet seat for hours
and leave afloat a dozen Camel butts.
Bill always drove a brand new Mercury
with leather seats and every option, too,
its engine hopped up faster than the cops,
and when Bill drove the twisting country roads,
he always was pursuing and pursued.