The Facilitator Poem by Len Webster

Tall and slim, hardened by her own insecurities,
Almost a man, with a designer-label iron jaw,
She held the world at bay, clutching a cup of coffee
Like the child she would never have.
Uneasy facing the writing class before her,
She spoke of dated things of little consequence
But behind the mask remains of dreams
Stirred as she dredged the limits of her experience
To convince the dwindling battalion of hopefuls
That they too could aspire to the greatness
She had espoused though never quite reached
Except in the hopes of two decades earlier
When she drowned herself in words and dusty research
Producing a history and some fiction,
The sum total of her expertise added to the caustic tone
With which she now held the world at bay.


(2002)