an old writer and his words

  • WHICH

    Tomorrow it will beFriday again, so we knowthe decision is looming, one wehave grown used to, one that weagonize over although in any schemeof things it is trivial at best.But here we are trying to decidewhich of two coffee shops weshould visit tomorrow morning,a bagel and cortado at either,one close, nice and pedestrianbut with the…

    Lou Faber

  • UNDER FOOT

    Okay, let’s get some things straight once and for all. I don’t live in a shoe. It’s a work of modern architecture, a quite normal if unusual looking home,, and if you imagine it shoe-like, so be it. I’m not old, I’m 45, but with eight kids I am prematurely gray. It wasn’t broth I…

    Lou Faber

  • THE EARL WAS WRONG

    I’m not a big fan of butterwhich is why I could neverlive in England unless,and I’m not willing to do it,I became a vegan and thenI could beg off I suppose.Why the English see the needto put a thin layer of iton each slice of breadin a sandwich is beyond me.And don’t get me startedon…

    Lou Faber

  • CASSANDRA IN FLORIDA

    She is large, and largely immobileand occupies the bench by the roadthat encircles the property like a noose. She does this each day, a crustor more of stale bread tucked awayin a pocket of her always floral housedress that envelopes herand the bench she occupiesas a monarch on her throne. The ibis see her coming…

    Lou Faber

  • CURFEW

    We sat in the cramped kitchenhuddled around the stovethe open oven door spreadinga faint warmth that barelyslid through the winter chill.The bare bulb in the ceilingstrained and flickeredfighting to hold as the generatorswere shut down, and darknessenveloped our small world.The sky was lit by the flaresand the odor of exploding shellsseeped through the towelsealed windows…

    Lou Faber

  • GOOD DAY (GOODNIGHT)

    Every morning we are able, we go outon the lanai and have our fruit bowlsthen our cappuccinos with toastfrom her homemade sourdoughwhole wheat bread, and watchcountless birds fly outof the wetland that abuts our yard.The cat is always awaitingour arrival, usually sleepingon one of our oak rockers.She will look up at us, yawnand when we…

    Lou Faber

  • SUBSTITUTE

    Language is becoming a poor substitutealthough I have no word for what it isthat it is a poor substitute for at present. I grabbed an organic bananafrom the refrigerator this morningand paused to wonder if there areinorganic bananas somewhere. My New York Times, as usual, offeredAll The News That Is Fit To Printbut I really…

    Lou Faber

  • SLICED CLICHE

    He is fond of saying that heis the best thing since sliced bread. There is so much wrongwith that statement, evenignoring that he is the onewho keeps repeating it. If he were that great,and no one is rushing to suggestthat he has even approached it,wouldn’t he want to be justas great as sliced bread? And…

    Lou Faber

  • A LESSON TO TEACH

    This is what I would tell my sons:“You came from an ancient people,a heritage of poetsand tailors, or thievesand blasphemers,of callous menand slaughtered children.I would give you these books,written by God, some have said,although I am doubtfulbut driven by Erato, without doubt.” This is what I would tell my sons:“I didn’t go to war —there were so many…

    Lou Faber

  • BLUE ON BLUE

    The sun is shining brightly today,and the sky, with only the oddpassing cloud, is that certain blue. Do not ask me to describe that certainblue, but be assured it is not exactlythe blue that you are imagining right now. Even if I would describe it, in someinfinite detail, your vision of itwould at best be…

    Lou Faber