Prose by Carl “Papa” Palmer

“You sure are getting good at photo editing, Ann. This one looks like a little angel hovering over the sidewalk down by the city park fountain.”

“Actually, she is an angel. That’s Faith, my granddaughter, but I didn’t use Photo Shop on that one. This was “Exhibit A,” court evidence at my husband’s trial”.

“You know my husband, William. He’s forever concocting something down in his shop, always too busy to go anywhere with me. He’d stay down there day and night if I’d let him.

Anyway, he was testing a formula for an antacid aerosol nose spray and accidentally spritzed some on Baby, our family dog, causing her to ascend, elevate up from the floor.

She didn’t float very high or for very long, and William didn’t have very much formula, but that didn’t stop him from experimenting on everything within his reach, to include Faith, who was caught on film by a vacationing CIA agent that evening in Bassett Park.”

“It seems government scientists were secretly testing their own newly developed formula to float soldiers and equipment over enemy minefields, and they thought William must be an enemy spy. So he was tried and sentenced.”

“So is William in prison?”

“No, they’re hoping he can create the mixture again. He’s under house arrest, wearing a security bracelet, down in his shop, smiling.”

Text © Carl “Papa” Palmer