an old writer and his words

  • SIR, YES SIR

    The hardest part wasn’t the marching,wasn’t the godawful food, although almost so,wasn’t the heat and humidity of San Antonio.It wasn’t the thought that I had nearlyflunked out of college under the sway,or was it swaying away with, recreational drugs,until I cut a deal with the Dean, my futurefor producing a DD-214, an honorable discharge.It wasn’t…

    Lou Faber

  • SOLDIERS

    We marchedfor hoursgoingnowhere We satswelteringin classroomspretendingto learn Six weekslaterthey told uswe werewarriors Our haircould beginto grow back Heavensave us fromendless war,fromourselves. First published in Proud to Be: Writing by American Warriors, Vol. 13A publication of the Laurel Review

    Lou Faber

  • GROUND HOLD

    She sits in the middle seat of an oversold DC-9, Carhartt jacket and watch cap pulled tightly over her hair, a blond wisp slipping out the side. She cradles on her lap a tawny brown Stetson with a tooled leather and silver hat band. “It’s never goin’ in an overhead, my fiancee’d go up there…

    Lou Faber

  • JUST WAITING

    I spend a great deal of time waitingin rooms so namedin lines that never seem to movefor old Godot who still hasn’t arrivedfor the peace and prosperity the politicians love to promisefor the light to change to green when I am running latefor the rain to stop when I want to be outsidefor someone to…

    Lou Faber

  • FALLING APART

    In my minds eye, whichfortunately for it cannot hopeto see the mirror, I am sixteen.No, cancel that, at sixteen Iwas still chubby to be kind.So let’s make me 18, evenif I had almost no hair thanksto the U. S. Air Force, but Iwas as fit as I would ever be.No, that won’t work either,for I…

    Lou Faber

  • SISTER

    I can picture her sittingin her small apartmentholding a cup of tea.This is Parma, or perhaps,Milan, two of the threecities I visited in Italy.Her hair is long, grayand white, her smile pained.She does not know I existbut we share so much,a father we never metfirst and foremost.We will never meet,for she, too, may be dead…

    Lou Faber

  • NONFAT CORTADO

    There was a time when Iwould steal away for an hourand sit in the corner of my favoritecoffee shop, watching people.There would always be students,fidgeting in a hurry to besomewhere for which they are latebut dare not face uncaffeinated.There was an older man,his white and gray hair an absurdversion of the Friars of old,the man…

    Lou Faber

  • DO AS I SAY

    Eat your vegetables,Don’t ever run with scissors,Clean your room,Always wear clean underwear,Comb your hair every morning,Always say please and thank you,Always listen to adults, they know more,Be nice to animals and small children,Clean your room,Don’t go in the water for an hour after eating,Polish your shoes,Don’t play with sticks, you could put an eye out,Clean…

    Lou Faber

  • MID MORNING SONG

    He leans against the walloutside the Prêt à Mangerwitting with his dogon the old Mexican blanketsthat look uniquely out of placeon a cool London morning.He sips the now fetid coffeein its Styrofoam cup,its Burger King logoand temperature warning.His hair is long, mostlygray with streaks of white,his beard whitewith swaths of blond, helooks as though hejust…

    Lou Faber

  • BUSINESS SUITS

    “What do you think is the likelihoodof success in the long run,” she asks,and I watch the fly land on my forearm,perched on hairs that barely bend under his inconsequential weight.His wings are a perpetual twitch,almost unseen, and felt only as a faintbreeze in my imagination, while a world is created, a reality collapses, a…

    Lou Faber