His Faith-Promoting Story

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Thirty-six years after his baptism, 
nobody was converted. 

His grown kids were apostates, and his exes 
were either nudists or inactives 

who thought that turning up in his scribblings 
was the next best thing to rape. 

Still, he marched off every Sunday 
with his recommend in his wallet, 

taught Primary and Priesthood, ran 
the Cub Scouts, and went on splits 

with the missionaries, despite a hankering 
for cigarettes and skin-mags, 

and his cousin shouting, “See you in hell!” 
across the mortuary parking lot 

at Grandfather’s funeral, which 
as the family’s official saint and historian 

he duly recorded, as such pronouncements seemed
to have a way of not going unfulfilled.