SAD JOHN'S LAUGHTER AND LEGACY

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JOURNAL #29

he was always claimin' he was born
in da belly of a sodie pop can
to da likes of a rabid beach dog
who wore bread sacks on his paws
to avoid the scorching summer sand
even at five years old
I never believed him none
to me he was
just a yappy, cacklin', toothless old man
his stories took his teeth or so he said
he was the youngest of 17
for many years I'd wonder 17 what?
then one day it hit me
17 children
( wow, old man)
didn't seem possible
but I later learned
it sure was possible
more so back in his old days
cotton farmers the lot of them
and they needed as many free hands
as they could raise
his granddaddy was a slave
freed after all that passed unpleasantness
he roamed the pike
and drank from the spout
or so old Sad John sure did rattle on about
and he could out hum a hummingbird
if he cared enough to
whatever that means
he said a lot of odd and meaningless things
but they seemed to mean somethin'
right like to him
he tried so hard with folks but never
seemed to set well
maybe it was that one voodoo eye
all clouded over like
some Cajun witch put a hex on him
and left him dead in that eye
he never would say why
they hung that nick name of Sad John
on him
cause all I ever seen of him
was his laughin' and hollerin' on
about this and that pretty scene
he'd say ah yes it sure was an awful pretty scene
especially when he was rememberin' somethin' that
really made him happy to recall and share
as I grew too old to believe his tales
it came to me one day
like two days or so
before I learned he'd passed on
to be with his own gone kin
in many ways he was one of his own tall tales
I mean reading this now
even to me, makes him seem almost unreal
well, 'tis of no matter really as old Sad John
would have loved this
that little child he used to amaze
now amazing some reader
by sharing his oddness and affection
for the incomprehensible
his unique life
spared to be shared
for this poet's childhood memory
so intently mined
for some spiritual profit........
(written Aug 31,2004 430am)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem came to me so clear. I use to know as a child two old men
Clyde Monday and Ike Cunningham though neither were black they would tell all of us neighborhood kids tall tales of the good ole days and one was about an old black man named Sad John which old Ike himself pointed out was funny as Sad John was always laughing and cutting up with everyone. He was one of the happiest seeming fellows you'd ever want to know and from a combination of those two men telling us kids tales this poem formed.

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