by Carl “Papa” Palmer
Father, Son, Holy Spirit Not kneeling in a church pew reciting catechism rote, a last minute plea, genie lamp wish upon a star desire nor begging for winning lottery numbers, just here this day to say thank you for continuing to bless me in spite of my transgressions. I confess I attended service but twice this past year, probably like most Catholics, Easter and Christmas, no vow for the next, yet still feel You and I have a pretty good relationship of inner dialogue without the chanting choreographed congregational responses in church making me more the fraud than what I am. I mislead, spin yarns, take false liberties justified by some self served poetic license. I stretch made up memories more each time told to hold attention of those who have heard me tell my stories a time or two before. But then, You've heard all this many times, me avoiding blame by calling my lies artistic effects, but still, in spite of my untruths, You take care of me, so I guess we remain on good terms. If not I'm sure You'll be showing me a sign. So until next time, I remain the same in Your name, a fake, a phony, liar and writer of poetry. Father, Son, Holy Spirit, Amen
Carl “Papa” Palmer of Old Mill Road in Ridgeway, Virginia, lives in University Place, Washington. He is retired from the military and Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) enjoying life as “Papa” to his grand descendants and being a Franciscan Hospice volunteer.