letter to fante’s ghost

dear dan

at nineteen  circa early 70’s    a displaced island girl came back home to venice for a short visit   questioning home   deceived and wounded again by love     and searching

still searching     for the place and time that might settle and define her

as she walked her dog up brooks ave     past the straight satans’ den

sandals crunching through the remains of broken beer bottles   over trash-lined gutters–   more trash than she remembered–    you barreled out of a dealer’s front door and into the street

plowing straight into her      bummed a smoke, chatted her up and convinced her that you needed a ride back over the hills to the valley        was she game for an afternoon of adventure?

the pad might’ve been mom n ‘dad’s casa in the suburbs       and the bedroom, that of a son    old enough to know better    yet too old or too fucked up to still be livin’ at home with the folks

the floor was hardwood    the room trashed    and her spine ached from the beating it received beneath you during your version of lovemaking     the bedsheets on the rumpled bed were too filthy to be on       or in    and she was warned not to touch   or read    the scribbles on the lined paper amid the books    crumbs and chaos

afterwards    we stumbled, high as kites        you opened the door of the family garage     dragged out an old rusted-out chopper      and after ten minutes of sputtering and smoking and the grinding of gears     you wheeled it to the street,   she hopped on the back of the old harley    and onto the nearby ramp of the 405

to this day, that terrifying 125mph ride in the fast lane was her first     and last   ride on the back of a motorcycle   her screams to slow down or stop     disappeared into the wind  as your whoops and hollers grew more maniacal by each passing minute    her arms and shoulders numbed from clinging so tightly around that beer belly  spilling over those funky jeans of yours    yet you yelled and yelled and laid on it        like you were happily speeding into death’s arms      and a welcomed       hell

the CHP who after miles and miles of chase    finally got your attention     asked if you had a deathwish        your reply was, “why yes,  officer, i do”      to which he answered   “well do it on your own time, not with the life of this girl hanging on for her dear life behind you, asshole”…

my brother /friend sent me a copy of your death notice  via al   a translated  italian obit from europe   where you LA poet/writers gained the bulk of your notoriety and fame

i have been blessed and cursed with these memories….an odd, unpretentious life    wrong place at the right time     right place at the wrong time…..slices of heaven and potential gateways to hell

farewell mister fante…you almost took me with you that day   on the 405    heaven or hell..i hope the journey took

you whopping and hollering    loudly   toward the end


About lindalou5150

as exercise or exorcism, i write...for the eyes of others, for my eyes and heart only, for the love and the rage, i write...to release the gamut of emotion...to tell the truth and say what's often thought but not written...
This entry was posted in poetry/poesy. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to letter to fante’s ghost

  1. Karmanot says:

    Very WOW my dear…..burning, flaming, poeting to the max….just loved it!

  2. This was so exciting! You had my heart racing and and my belly laughing. To be able to remember in such detail those minor/major adventures… so many of them… you never told me about this one! Hope the new year brings in lots of topiaries to counter the dystopiaries! Would be nice to hear you recite some of your poems. Miss you. P.

    • lindalou5150 says:

      just saw this, dearheart! you know the old saying i can’t remember what i did five minutes ago but forty years ago is clear as a bell… a writer kid once accused me of making up my weird encounters as fiction….truly, it simply has been the oddest life! xoxox

  3. David Garcia says:


    o boy, this is a good one…all burners firing…beautiful work…full of passion, energy, humor, truth…has a crackle


    thanks for writing and sending…

    card is in the mail…

    thanks for grandpa’s package…loved it all…


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s