an old writer and his words

  • ALBANY, THURSDAY NIGHT

    It is a cheap moteljust off the highway,across from the mallnow almost empty of cars,a room not much biggerthan a bed, a desk anda small nightstand.The diet cola is sweatingdespite the breezeof the air conditioner,the television flickers.I have left a wake up callhoping I arise beforethe jangle of the phoneknowing I will not.Corso lies on…

    Lou Faber

  • ALBLANY THURSDAY NIGHT

    It is a cheap moteljust off the highway,across from the mallnow almost empty of cars,a room not much biggerthan a bed, a desk anda small nightstand.The diet cola is sweatingdespite the breezeof the air conditioner,the television flickers.I have left a wake up callhoping I arise beforethe jangle of the phone,knowing I will not.Corso lies on…

    Lou Faber

  • ENCROACHMENT

    Driving across the Sunshine Stateyou slowly realize the citrus groveshave fallen to the oppressive blightof growing communities, many gatedthat eke their way inland from the coasts.You still see the large cattle ranches,cows and bulls grazingwithin easy sight of the highway.You wonder if, in their solitude,they know their ultimate fateis the slaughterhouse and ifas they watch…

    Lou Faber

  • I WAS, BACK THEN

    Fifteen years ago, I tell them,I was invincible, nothing bothered me,nothing held me back and eventhe few surgeries were shortrest stops on a runner’s highway. I knew it would last forever, Iknew I was kidding myself. Now, aging, I am held togetherby titanium and injections,trying to fall apart withas much grace as possible. My little…

    Lou Faber

  • INTO THE BRUSH

    I have carefully peeledback the skin of a hundred snakesand left their twisted formscurled around mesquiteas so many skirts. Canadia geesefollow carefully worn pathsacross an October skyundeterred by storm cloudsgiving chase from the west.A wolf wanders downfrom the tree line to the edgeof the highway. She can tastethe approach of winter,bitter on her tongue, her…

    Lou Faber