Conversation with a Fireman from Brooklyn
by Tess Gallagher
He offers, between planes,
to buy me a drink. I’ve never talked
to a fireman before, not one
from Brooklyn
anyway. Okay. Fine, I say. Somehow
the subject is bound
to come up, women
firefighters, and since I’m
a woman and he's a fireman, between
the two of us, we know something
about this subject. Already
he’s telling me he doesn’t mind
women firefighters, but what
they look like
after fighting a fire, well
they lose all respect. He’s sorry, but
he looks at them
covered with the cinders of someone’s
lost hope, and he feels disgust, he just
wants to turn the hose on them, they
are that sweaty and stinking, just like
him, of course, but not the woman he
wants, you get me? and to come
to that—
isn’t it too bad, to be despised
for what you do to prove yourself
among men
who want to love you, to love you,
love you.
