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Johnson's Child

from roaming on by Camden Joy

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I was out on the highway when in the moonlight I saw the Angel of Death glide by at midnight. And a church bell was ringing as I remembered with fright my son was fighting a fever in his bed that night. So I ran right home though I was surely too late. But my son lay there sleeping his fever all gone away. I felt this warm rush of gratitude as my wife said Did you hear? They just pronounced the boss’s only son dead. So it was Johnson’s child. And I tried but I could not help but smile. Johnson’s child. The only thing that brought pleasure to that old man’s eyes. For every time I was led to the back room and whipped when a foreman heard me threaten to quit for every hand that was lost when the steel saw slipped and for every union boy found shot in a ditch. If I believed in justice this would be it: that the cruel would fall victim to something like this that would steal upon them quiet and quick and take the future from Johnson before he knew what had hit. Johnson’s child mourned by the papers buried in style. Johnson’s child as their limousines traveled off in single file. Johnson soon followed his son to the grave. Once the foundry burnt down his factory went away. The whole town disappeared in a matter of days. But I held out my hope with the few who remained. Fifty years now have passed and they’re moving back in. And I can hear Old Man Johnson’s cry in the wind and a child’s voice too that comes now and again. I feel like I know what it was like to be him. To be Johnson’s child and look down from the mansion across to the slag pile. Johnson’s child and face no chance of escape all the while.

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from roaming on, released March 4, 2022

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Camden Joy Middlebury, Vermont

lo-fi americana and caustic wit swirl about a 1970s suburban garage where a 1950s country band plays timeless originals and succinct gems.

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