Peter Is My Hero (Poem)

I've been writing a lot of angry letters lately.

Some are to the leasing office, some to a boss,

some to myself. 

Everyone is getting on my nerves.

No one wants to be kind outside of getting paid

or getting even.

Is that the way of Judas, Peter,

or both?

Maybe a slice to someone's ear

expresses my frustration for their lack

of receiving my moment,

for I always receive theirs. 

Anyone can hear the complaint,

but how many of us admit our contribution

to the persecution?

Yes, we are followers of good,

but will we last beyond the rooster crows

or be satisfied with 30 pieces of silver?

Raising my voice validates the volume,

but voids its content.

Removing an ounce of flesh promises understanding.

You can't grow it back.

Maybe sew it on,

but you'll never forget the trauma. 

Hopefully, it will change the habit,

not destroy every world it touches.

We don't care about other people's atmosphere

unless it cross-pollinates our own.

We are dangers to our own paradise.

We always find a way to poison our food supply

and damage the community.

We shattered the tablets before Moses wrote them,

for we are comfortable with death

if it feeds us three times a day.

Maybe Peter had a point.

Walking on water can be tricky

if a storm is always coming,

always rocking your faith.

Sometimes, I need to hear Jesus say

He will never leave the boat,

never leave me alone with a murderer,

or worse,

myself.

Until I no longer need to get loud and honest,

I'll keep the knife on me.

Someone

is always

never listening.

-Calvin W. Pennywell Jr. (2022)