an old writer and his words

  • THE LOBBY BAR AT MIDNIGHT

    Ann Arbor a certain diffidenceButte born of three rum CollinsCarmel the Gucci show windowsDuluth darkened, forebodingErie escalator rattleFairbanks a sound coffinGrapevine grand pianoHilo the restaurant emptyIthaca seeking dinersJacksonville by the exit signsKalamazoo conventioneers droolLincoln and slobberMemphis over the ankh necklaceNatchez girl cross leggedOakland engulfed in smokeProvidence the ficus droopsRehoboth in the shade of the barSalem…

    Lou Faber

  • CLOSE ENOUGH TO HEAR

    We sit around the small tablesglad to be out of the sunwhose midday glare seemsto blind the drivers slowlyapproaching the Jetty Park lot. A family chatters, the childrenlaughing at nothing, at everything,and nearby a dog lays outdreaming of a good walkand dinner, hoping for scraps. We can hear the waterof the inlet, the waves breakingonto…

    Lou Faber

  • NOT YET

    The man walked into the old dinerlooking not at all happy,dressed in what looked likea white robe he found in some alley. He ordered coffee and glancedaround, as if seeking onefamiliar face, finding manythat looked like that of his father, like him,for that matter, and he knewfrom this quick glance thatthey were not yet ready,…

    Lou Faber

  • LINKAGE

    Linking things is a human need,tenuous forces barely holdingacross synapses easily brokenor lost, never to be replaced. Ithaca is forever joined withGalway City, and I still have notfigured out how to get the twopeople together as together isobviously what they should be. She sits at a small tablein the Commons, staring, waitingperhaps for a writer…

    Lou Faber

  • CARNEY BARKER

    You there, walking along the midway come into my tent, for only a dollar I will show you wonders beyond your meager comprehension but this offer is only good for the next fifteen minutes for that is when I start my show, It’s not something you want to miss. I know you’ve seen quarters pulled…

    Lou Faber

  • DRINKING TEA IN KABUL*

    Rockets flash brieflyacross the chilled sky,plumes of smoke, ashcarried offby impending winter. Over the lintel of the entryto the Inter-Continental Hotel Chicago,carved deeply into the marbleEs Salamu Aleikumstaring implacablythrough ponderousbrass framed doorsonto the Miracle Mile.Countless guestspass below itunseeing. My son and Isit across a small tablespilling bits of tapasonto the cloth,laughing lightlyat the young boybathed…

    Lou Faber

  • THE ROOM

    It was a strange room,that much I recall, with heavyvelvet curtains coveringwhat should have been a window, and might once have been, but no longer.  The only light was a bare bulbin the ceiling, casting a soft amber wash across the time worn oak floor,and once white walls. There was a chair, nondescriptand now long forgottenand a small…

    Lou Faber

  • SIPPING

    I spent much of the afternoon tryingto imagine you, spending a small partof an afternoon reading this poem. I have no clear picture of where you are,but the chair is well cushioned, andyou sit deeply in it, a glass of some amber liquid on the glass and metalend table, just within arm’s reach.I suppose, since…

    Lou Faber

  • WEAVING

    She plucks the odd loose thread puts it on the table and finds another and a bit of what could be twine. She weaves them together loosely, with seeming abandon until they are an ill formed braid barely hanging together, a jumble of color and fabric, a true hodge-podge. But when she says to all…

    Lou Faber

  • SUMMER, THEN

    For three days I was a short order cook a change from my table duties when the regular guy decided that a night of drinking didn’t end when the bar closed and broke back in through the rotting back door that was always next on the list of things to be fixed. The owner, my…

    Lou Faber