an old writer and his words

  • HERE TO THERE

    It ran, got me from point Ato point B, often with a fewstarts and stops, alwaysbegrudging, and a ghastlyshade of yellow that helpedexplain why I could afford itin the fist place. The windshield wipers diedperiodically, so I avoidedrain when possibleor accepted a soakedor frozen arm when not. Eventually the topof the carburetor came loosebut Double…

    Lou Faber

  • HARLAN

    You came, Harlan, to Rochestersomewhere in an endless winter,“Ellison in Tundraland” you said.We all chuckled approvingly. You said a short prayerclimbing into the rusting Opel,sliding on the edgeof oblivion, andthe approaching snowplow. You stood, hoarse, smellingof Borkum Riff and English Leather,a tweed jacket over a polo shirtand thinning jeansand told us of the insanityof television,…

    Lou Faber

  • WINTER MEMORY

    As a child I know the wintersmust have been milder, as itwas never too cold to have my parentstake is to Sheridan Park wheremy father would drag the oldwooden toboggan up the chuteadjacent to the stairs as we ran ahead,and smile as we hurtled downseeing how far we could goacross the snow packed runway. After…

    Lou Faber

  • THE GREAT HERE AFTER

    When it’s time, i suppose I’d like to go like my dog and cat, slipping away as they were gently stroked. It could be like that, there’s a chance but I can’t count on it, no one can. I never did try skydiving, too late, now and so a failed or fouled chute won’t be…

    Lou Faber