Humor Poetry posted May 27, 2022

This work has reached the exceptional level
Return of Patrick McKee

God's Dilemma

by Paul McFarland

One day St. Pete told God the rate
Of applications at his gate
Had fallen to an all-time low
And he thought God would like to know.

He said there always was a line
That stretched way out beyond cloud nine,
But lately things had been so slow,
He had to let some angels go.

God pondered on this new intel,
And thought He better visit Hell.
For it had been a week or two
Since Satan's last phone call came through.

Now normally He'd be inclined
To be exuberant to find
That Satan had declined to call.
He'd been a pest since his big fall.

So God thought He had better check
The sinners on the lower deck.
He had a feeling in His gut
Of something wrong but didn't know what.

God knew that it was hot down there.
So He dug out some summer wear.
He grabbed his pair of Oakley shades
And T-shirt that spelled out "Cure Aids".

He then went down a flight of stairs
To catch the devil unawares
Instead of going there in style,
He'd mix in with the rank and file.

When He arrived, a cooling breeze
Came wafting through a copse of trees.
No screams of agony He heard;
No blasphemy, no, not a word.

Now you could tell just by the smell
That things were different here in Hell.
A rotten smell once filled the air,
But that stench was no longer there.

The girl outside the devil's door,
At least a nine, and maybe more,
Said, "We're quite busy rating sin.
But why don't You go right on in."

So God barged in; He couldn't wait
To see that sly old reprobate,
But where the devil used to be,
Now sitting there was Pat McKee.

Now He recalled that Irish bum
Who'd tried the gates to Kingdom Come,
But He'd refused his application
With a nasty condemnation.

And after that initial chat,
God thought He'd seen the last of Pat,
So what He saw seemed mighty queer.
Now what in Hell was brewing here?

So He asked Patrick if he knew
Where Satan might have gone off to.
Old Patrick said without a pause
He didn't know where in Hell he was.

God didn't believe that bald faced lie
And He began to wonder why
An Irishman was left in charge
While Satan ran around at large,

So God then cornered Pat McKee
And gave that man the third degree,
And after He had Patrick wired,
He learned that Satan had retired.

The devil saw his chance to flee
So gave the keys to Pat McKee.
When Satan left, Pat fired his crew
And then he made a change or two.

Now when Pat looked around, he thought
That this place was just too damn hot.
That rotten stench that filled the air
Was more than Pat McKee could bear.

So after searching through the place,
He finally came up, face to face,
With several sinners he could hire
To cure the stench and damp the fire.

God saw that He was up against it.
He was stymied. He just sensed it.
And God now had a worried look.
What would He do with this old crook?

This Irishman, it seemed quite clear,
Had managed things quite well down here.
And though He didn't quite trust this guy,
He thought He might give him a try.

God had a contract, it appears,
With Satan for a few more years,
But He had stood enough abuse,
So He just cut the devil loose.

He'd sign Pat for a small trial run,
And in a month see how he'd done,
And if things weren't too much askew,
He'd hire Pat for a year or two.

He told Pat that this was a place
Where sinners go and have to face
The consequence of misdeeds done,
And not a place to have some fun.

"If I find you're not tough enough,
And if things aren't right up to snuff,"
God said, "There is a politician
I could use for this position."

So Patrick said he'd do his best,
But lately he had been quite stressed.
While Satan had searched hard for sin,
Pat had these sinners pouring in.

It seems that somehow word got out
That things in Hell, without a doubt,
Were better than they used to be
Since things were run by Pat McKee.

So as God made His way upstairs,
He feared the new state of affairs.
He never thought that He would see
The day He hired old Pat McKee.

Rhyming Poetry Contest contest entry



This is the fourth poem about Patrick McKee.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

Artwork by Artistsushma at

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