Leaving East Rockaway by Water, a Black and White Still Life
alan catlin
Long rows of large abandoned wood frame houses
sag toward the channel. split floor boards are
covered by great barriers of moss awaiting higher
tides, wet rot, the waves cast from the outgoing
inboards, the speed boat racers ignoring the
posted 5 miles an hour rules, cutting out between
ruined pier pylons through a space in the high
green weeds, narrowly avoiding the submerged rocks,
the ditched stolen Cadillacs and Lincolns near
shore, their caved in windshields clouded by silt,
slowly accepting burial by mud, total immersion
in time. More casual boaters observe the decrepit
Star Dust Motel, touching the slime matted wharf
boards, at the end of the collapsed line, pointing
out toward open water. the end of human ruin;
looking inside, there are no floors, no windows,
no ceilings, only walls, leaking fluids, piles of
garbage, a death stench, furious water bugs caressing
the eyes of the bloated dead fish remembering
the nights when the outdoor hotel gas lights hissed,
channel boats pulled their weight by steam and every
sound was big band music and every movement was dance.
