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.