Come, Holy Spirit, fill me with affection
for sycophantic colleagues who pretend a
boss’s remark is witty; the projection
of Power Points that stray from the agenda
with pie charts, false and darkly personal,
that narrow my dominion to a sliver,
and bullets saying things are worse in all
of my performance measurements. Deliver
your lamb to valleys where he’ll safely graze,
or help me love your children at this table,
to hold my tongue, unless to sing your praise
in every situation, so I’m able
to be content in everything, like Paul,
who loved those whom he didn’t like at all.
Articles by Stephen Scaer
