Joe Simsone Is

By Jack Joseph Smith

The bridge a ship Coil the rubber, the rope The chocker chains You can not Simsone walks His father an iron worker The man before didn't care As his wit held him to labor Piece together Simsone Now superententent Simsone decided not to buy bynoctrals As he builds the beams fold The money in his office have ansolutely nothing to do with the boots that sit beneath him Still Simone- walks fit The tear beam struggles 100 feet; 1000 feet It is over where the last rivit fits them There back with questions "Simsone" where Ya fuck'en with the money Making out the checks isn't enough: Where is the blood management needs? We will save the iron scutter At the parapet we will shove iron right On the pans we will lap good So that all is free on the pour The advance is not an approach It is not social We will do it as if we were airplains at sea But far more to thee O Sea The bridge Bulkhead gains or makes loss with industry
Joe simscone was a beautiful man born All call foolish the poetry wind The name oblivion is fact Like the rack on a bunk You are dead if you don't quick drop Not to mislead Joe is wellbread Maybe like the guiver the pig gets on the noised 38 of the slaughter Joe disreguarded the information about him And he lived as a Prince Until the only one was dead And suddenly liked his secret surging That leading would cast us unbread He went with a swing, your immagination. has that told; the narror now though has not to do with what has been visited No image here; cause what Joe builds is for the first time Joe gets loose like your dream And he dosen't do it cause he's Pilish But he lives above it cause he's also Italian Both of Joes Grandparents were slaughtered Yhat's just to make it easy When Joe went to the graves You could gues his smile before the modern movies He knew Mamma watching his milk ment something different now We've all seen the middle ages act on television And we have heard let it be clear Whell let it be that Joe never will Stone still Joe remained a watchtower on his folks Joe diddn't get pissed off because his father got to ding out lousy laught right across his mamma's toea After all sometimes it wasn't winter Killing chipmuncks was something when Joe was a kid Cause they let the rabbits come out near the railroad ties Course Joe's sling shot wasn't taken from any kind of tree It was given at age three by some kind of traveling man that looked a little black He was passing about to get a street car off a round church Gold has nothing to do with God It is always thin And later he liked that Cause it keeps the man inside

Original Scan

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AI Interpretation

GPT

A labor poem and character sketch that turns an ironworker into a rough myth of class memory, ethnic inheritance, and endurance.

Simsone walks the high steel while the speaker questions what office money has to do with the boots beneath him. The continuation brings his Polish and Italian ancestry, murdered grandparents, and childhood slingshot into the same portrait. The final distinction between Gold and God leaves him with an inner life that money cannot account for. Some typed wording remains unclear; the page review notes record those limits.

Claude

'Joe Simsone Is' portrays a bridge superintendent, son of 'an iron worker', whose office money has 'ansolutely nothing / to do / with the boots that sit / beneath him', then follows him through myth and memory: 'a beautiful man born', 'Pilish' and 'also Italian', with grandparents 'slaughtered' and a childhood of 'Killing chipmuncks'. It ends 'Gold has nothing to do with God / It is always thin / And later he liked that / Cause it keeps the man inside'.

The first page speaks in clipped job-site commands and a crew's promises ('We will save the iron scutter'), and the second widens into rough hagiography of ancestry and boyhood. Across both, the poem sets bodily work against money and management. The author's spellings and the typed corrections keep the voice raw and spoken.