an old writer and his words

  • 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

  • NIGHT AT THE ALLUSIVE TAVERN

    He had been sitting there for hours, days,how many “last calls” had he heard?He watched Beckett and Eliot come and gobut he sat waiting, patiently, no Godot for him.He had long since lost his now empty pen,his pockets grown stuffed with damp cocktailnapkins, the story of his life bleeding slowlyinto the worn fabric of the…

    Lou Faber

  • PURPOSES

    Life, she said, is all aboutfinding purpose not things. It was hard to argue with her,as she overwhelmed with examples. Rice filling a small bowlholds an incense stick up and catches the ashesas they fall quietly down.. A cracked plate can situnder a plant, catching any overflow from itscareful daily watering. And old fleece jacket…

    Lou Faber

  • SITTING WATCHING

    Of course when we livedup north we wouldn’thave imagined this, sittingon our lanai watching the sunset the patchy sky ablazesipping small glasses of portand wondering if a lightjacket might be in order,as the beaver moonof November waxes slowly. The cat, curled at our feetcannot imagine the icy windhowling down the street,the foreboding clouds offeringtheir first…

    Lou Faber

  • TOO WAY BACK MACHINE

    Platform shoes, velourNehru jackets, what the hellwere we thinking, and pinkvelour, seriously, for men. At least it was Hendrix, Byrds,and not Pat Boone and AndyWilliams, almost the deathof music as we know it. Reefers were evil, told us so,and when we figured out it waspot, we begged to differ, frequentlybetween hits on the bong, after…

    Lou Faber

  • ETD

    As a child, I could neverunderstand why, when I knewthat it ws time to go, my parentswere never ready, always neededone or two more things; and whyen route, we were never quite thereeven though I had waited the tenminutes more they said it would take. But I had nothing on my beloveddog Mindy, who would…

    Lou Faber

  • ON THE BANKS

    The river ignores us for yet another day, flowing despite our presence, knowing the lake awaits. As the rain lets up, the sun appears and sets the water ablaze demanding our attention and we gladly give it. As our jacket shed the last of the cloudy gifts, the wind reminds us that this moment is…

    Lou Faber