by Robert M. Katzman © March 31, 2019
Baby, what’s wrong?
I wanna go out
I know, your coat is on and everything
But the rain is so cold
So, want some hot cocoa?
No! I wanna go out…
What would you do…outside?
I’d run around
I’d watch the ants
I’d try at climb that big tree
One day, when I’m bigger…
What else?
by Robert M. Katzman ©March 21, 2019
A nice person I know, Jewish like me, posted a reflection that America may not be ready to elect a gay person to be president.
The basic idea expressed was that South Bend, Indiana’s Mayor Pete Buttigieg’s time was not “now” no matter how qualified he may be. I am not neutral and admire him, so I wrote this:
(I know others may not agree with me, but speaking up is why people came here in the first place. You are legally entitled NOT to agree with me in America or anyone else, but in a civilized way)
This country wasn’t “ready” for the revolution in 1776, either, and a third of the colonists were against it. Many fled to Canada. I know that long before that date, the Native Americans weren’t ready for the English.
(Read on …)Incident At Nick’s Diner by Robert M. Katzman © June 2005
After my divorce in 1977, I would pick up my daughter at her mother’s house early everySaturday and bring her home Sunday morning. Sometimes, before I would return her to her mother’s house, she and I would stop off for a quick breakfast at Nick’s Diner, a popular local restaurant.
Nick was a very friendly Greek man from Athens. He would wave and smile at me whenever I would stop by his place. The food was good, and cheap, and Kate, the waitress, was fast and sweet to my daughter. We liked Nick’s Diner.
One Sunday morning in 1979, when my daughter was four and I was twenty-nine, we were sitting in our usual spot in a booth near the door, when I heard a loud and obnoxious voice from across the diner.
(Read on …)An excellent short film of poetry about work, by writers who know what the word actually means: Illustrations by Darleen Coleman, poetry by Marshall Smith, Robert M. Katzman, Dave Gourdoux, and Joe Engel. 13 minutes about sweat, grunt, gears, steel-toed leather boots and men pretending to hope.
(Read on …)