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Afternoon in Brooklyn
AFTERNOON IN BROOKLYN
It’s lunchtime in the city, the workers sit eating their home brought goods, talking and laughing telling tall tales and sad stories. A garbage container is their easy chair and some wood pallets a dining table. Still it doesn’t seem to bother them.
They appear to be content in their surroundings, their picturesque view of a warehouse and musical sounds of the railroad to their backs.
...
Still they sit.
A couple walks by on the street between them and the railroad. Walking their dog, as if they were in a park or countryside. Yet the garbage filled abandoned lots, vacant buildings and newly planted trees along the sidewalk seem to suffice.
Trucks consume the area.
A man stands and stares while I write. The other men have gone back inside to work. The local birds come out to feast on the remnants of the workers discarded lunches.
The birds like the people are all of different species. This may have been a beautiful place once. Still some may see it that way.
I wait to unload my freight and rest my head on the wheel. It’s lunchtime in the city.
