On Understanding My Rabbit……..by Robert M. Katzman
© January 22, 2012
To know a rabbit
Requires
Paying attention
to
Silence
*
I call
My rabbit:
Rabbit
To date
Rabbit
Has expressed
No other preference
*
When Rabbit is hungry
He looks at me
When Rabbit is frightened
He looks at me
When my Rabbit is happy to see me
He looks at me
*
Rabbit’s
Opaque
Shining black eyes
Expect me to understand
*
The consequences
of my
Misunderstanding
are
Permanent
*
Dry Timothy grass
Leafy Romaine lettuce
Raw whole carrots
and
Curious little pellets
Make up
Rabbit’s buffet
*
I line
Rabbit’s cage
With
Recycled
New York Times
Pages
Hoping to raise our
Relationship
To a
Higher plane
But Rabbit’s
Response
Has been disturbing
*
I fear
Rabbit
May be
a
Republican
*
When musing about this
I avoid looking
At Rabbit’s
Feet
Malevolent thoughts
notwithstanding
After all
 Rabbit
Can’t vote
*
Rabbit scampers
Around my room
When I clean his cage
When ready to
Return home
He hops over to me
*
Allowing me
To pick him up
Cuddle him
Caress his
Silky ears
Scratch
His bony back
*
Rabbit is making
A choice
But
I must pay close
Attention
To his
Unspoken
Desires
*
Once
A strange and large
Visiting dog
Playfully
Captured Rabbit
Within
Its
Dripping jaws
*
Racing to the rescue
I learned that
Rabbit
Could scream
*
The big dog
Meant no harm
But didn’t express that
intent
To Rabbit
*
Banishing
The idiot predator
I enveloped
Terrified Rabbit
In my arms
*
His tiny heart’s
Staccato
Pounding
Like a
Chattering
Machine gun
His soft white body
Shivering
*
His intense
Black eyes
Pleading:
“How could you?”
*
Innocent unawareness
did not
Absolve me
of
Neglect
*
I accept what
Rabbit
Offers me
and have
Lowered my
Expectations
of
Reciprocal
Affection
*
The responsibility
of
Rabbit’s
care
Is entirely
Mine
*
Learning to protect
Rabbit’s
Total
Vulnerability
has
Made me
a
Better person
*
An
Unexpected
Gift
from
my
Rabbit
*
To know Rabbit
Requires
Paying attention
To
Silence
***
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue To This True Poem/Story
Times change and so do one’s fortunes. My little family moved to smaller quarters and while the two dogs could come with, Rabbit could not. My older daughter Rachel found a little girl, seven years old, whose own pet rabbit had recently died. Perfect I thought. After Rabbit and his cage and food had been claimed by the child, I asked Rachel if she knew what the little girl–whom I had never met–was going to call him. She said:”Rabbit”. I smiled. Goodbye my pet.
*
Publishing News!
Bob Katzman’s two new true Chicago books are now for sale, from him!
Vol. One: A Savage Heart and Vol. Two: Fighting Words
Gritty, violent, friendship, classic American entrepreneurship love, death, heartbreak and the real dirt about surviving in a completely corrupt major city under the Chicago Machine. More history about one man’s life than a person may imagine.
Please visit my new website:Â http://www.dontgoquietlypress.com
If a person doesn’t want to use PayPaI, I also have a PO Box & I ship anywhere in America.
Send me a money order with your return and contact info.
I will get your books to you within ten days.
Here’s complete information on how to buy my books:
Vol 1: A Savage Heart and Vol. 2: Fighting Words
My books weigh almost 2 pounds each, with about 525 pages each and there are a total together of 79 stories and story/poems.
Robert M. Katzman
Don’t Go Quietly Press
PO Box 44287
Racine, Wis. 53404-9998                                                           (262)752-3333, 8AM–7PM
Books cost $29.95 each, plus shipping
For: (1)$3.95; (2)$5.95; (3)$7.95; (4)$8.95 (5)$9.95;(6) $10.95
(7) $11.95; (8) $12.95; (9)$13.95 (10)$15.95 (15)$19.95
I am also for hire if anyone wants me to read my work and answer questions in the Chicago/Milwaukee area. Schools should call me for quantity discounts for 30 or more books. Also: businesses, bookstores, private organizations or churches and so on.
Poetry? For me, writing poetry is not an option.
It’s a response to emotion. Like cigarette smoke,
it’s fast-flowing, shapeless and with little time to capture it.
Writing poetry in an imperative. I say what I feel compelled to say.