Nan wanted me to give up everything
and follow her, like Jesus with the apostles,
“and you will be fishers of men.” In my mind
my index finger tapped a keypad: I will be
there in twelve hours. There was Mankato.
I can fit a lot in my jeep: a laptop, a printer,
shirts, slacks, socks, underwear. Leave
the suit, the tux, the cashmere topcoat
I seldom wear. But my will is locked up
somewhere. There’s my medical team,
they’d be lost without me, my dermatologist
(the most important person in my life).
Leave him, and my wellness center. My life
of thirty plus years here, and the Open Mic’s.
In exchange for the heaven of her face,
or my memory of a country that was she
and I under a tree at Lake of the Isles kissing,
blissful kisses, now water under the bridge.
Follow your heart, God says. Into what?
Jesus said fishers of men. They had nets
he gave them, in the New Testament.
I could take my Bible (words on a page
it wouldn’t take up space). But what about
Talissa, my primary care provider I have
a crush on? And my Sony flatscreen?
Fishers of men—they hauled a drowned man
from a river on CSI, stuffed in a suitcase.
Think with your head, not your heart.
I think George W. Bush said that. It’s nowhere
in the Good Book. Then, there’s my books.
Her hazel eyes, with thick lashes, are calling.
I loved her voice. Her almost-black hair.
Jesus gave the apostles nets. What about
medical and dental? A new driver’s license?
What if I took the test and failed?
About:
Peter Mladinic’s most recent book of poems, The Whitestone Bridge is available from Anxiety Press. An animal rights advocate, he lives in Hobbs, New Mexico, United States.
