SMILIN JOE

SMILIN JOE(L DOUGLAS ST OURS) SMILIN JOE



His caramel face

gently framed

chestnut eyes

and an apple pie grin

that would erupt

in bubbling laughter

at his own cornpone jokes,

mystifying wisecracks, homespun puns,

and punchlines he'd drop on a dime

through the sweat and grime.



He was a bag of bones and muscle

as merry as christmas,

as jolly as St. Nick,

as compact as an elf

with a sweet disposition

and a choir boy voice,

his chuckles as soft as a song.



To the white men

who watched from

the top of the trenches,

he was steady on the pick,

a maestro with the rake

and solid on the shovel,

and so they took a shine

to Smilin Joe who knew

and accepted his place

with a shrug of the shoulder

and a twinkle in the eye.



I was a scrawny

and inexperienced kid

and the only laborer

who wasn't black,

but we all got along

sharing in the fatigue and the filth

and mostly tolerating Joe's

easy and aimless ramblings

capped by his common refrain

when pausing to lean on his spade

"Aw shucks, yous right, thas right."

He couldn't be more agreeable and friendly.



Smilin Joe was only forty

and already he had killed two men,

one with a gun and one with a knife,

in bar fights one year apart,

and that's why the Shot Man

warned me not to rile Joe up,

back in those days

of toil and turmoil

in the rural south

during the summer of 66

and the unspoken jim crow custom

of condoning murder when the victim was colored.




by L DOUGLAS ST OURS

April 2010