an old writer and his words

  • A SIMPLE PROCEDURE

    The needle slips into the armjust above the wrist, it isa bringer of pain, a bringerof relief from pain, it is coldunder the now tepid blanket.The nurse, ever cheerful, saysit is time now, raises the bed railand the anesthetist presses gentlyon the plunger of the hypodermicand the drugs ooze slowly intothe patiently waiting vein.As they…

    Lou Faber

  • INJECTION SEAT

    Another day, another needle,it is the cost of growing older,I suppose, and does beatthe alternatives, but still,I am growing tired of feelinglike an underappreciated pin cushion. And please, it is not necessaryfor you to smile while pushingthe needle into whateverbody part wins the prizeas that day’s recipient, leaveme to decide whether to smile. And I’m…

    Lou Faber

  • NEEDLE

    She tells me I should rest,that I need convalescent time,but I want to tell her, “why,it isn’t like they stuck a needlein my eye, so why rest?” butit actually is just that, but the restof my body is none the worsefor the wear on my face,and it hurts less when Iam doing something otherthan thinking…

    Lou Faber

  • TAILORING

    My adoptivegrandfather could take bitsof cloth, a needle, threadand with magiclygnarled fingerscreate a garmentfit for royalty, to be wornby the old womanliving in the walkup down the street. I take wordsbits of ideasand hope,and with manicured fingerscreate whatI can only hopepasses for poetryto be ignoredby thoseliving nearbyin my suburb.

    Lou Faber

  • RAKUSU

    The last stitch is sewn, the loose threads trimmed, the pincushioned fingers are swaddled in bandages, bits of brown thread plucked from sofa, rug and shirt. It is done, save for every other stitch you now want to pull and resew, the mocking voice of the needle convincing you otherwise. All that is left is…

    Lou Faber