BROOKLYN NAVY YARD
I may have lost my concentration, maybe. I
skimmed the harbor field, until that little
Security jeep pulled me short. The usual,
'can't go there'. I don't know why; it's just
a place where old Navy craft were made,
launched right from there too; this spot.
Now, it's just derelict and I won't know
why : the old concrete pilings, probably
WWII, are leaning over, 'listing', but not
sunk. Everything else is a lot older.
They have a poster up, a big, wide-eyed
photo blow-up, of women during the war,
walking as a group past gaggles of hooting
men - catcalls, whistles, shouts. Oh Jesus,
sex is everywhere, and was then too. The women
were working here, for the war effort - it was a
large women's work contingent; and the men, they
were Navy assignees, for stateside work on ships.
The funny thing is, or was, I guess - in this odd
photo, the women - all smiling, not offended at
all - walking through the Navy Yard gates, to their
jobs, windblown and happy - are all carrying glass
quarts of white milk in clear bottles, one for each.
How strange everything, everywhere, is, or can be,
when you're beyond understanding, like me.