taxes, you make me cry
I should be proud,
watching my little pennies
make the world
freeway overpasses
bombs in Afganistan
but all I see are those huge numbers
wow, my income would set me up like
a Queen in a tropical country
and then I think of my credit card balance
tipped precariously in the favor of a faceless corporation
how those numbers don't mean anything at all
just days slogged at work
(which could be worse)
and students
(yelling at them, mostly)
and interminable meetings where I wish I could develop a drug problem to make them go by faster
and driving to work on stuffy, dry afternoons, nearly smashing that bicyclist
To see an entire year
reduced to a bottom line
That makes me cry
Even though we are getting a nice return
And someone else did the work of cyphering all the numbers
It still pierces me in a place so private and tender
Its embarrasing, is my heart made of money
Why should it be able to hurt like that?
This is a sting I know will pass quickly
Those money stings are like that
Oh, $500 seems like so much money
but next week, or next year,
I will hardly remember
It will pass like the memory of a bad flu
or a zit
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4 comments:
I am dumb.
I read your post's title quickly and indignantly asked you (as if you were here to answer), "What's wrong with Texas???"
And then I, you know, reread.
Oh.
As you were. In fact, I will be writing my own version of this post here in a while.
Taxes! ACK!
H
Okay the poem is pretty great, but John B.'s comment had me laughing out loud.
Eleven
You're not alone John B! I did the same thing, too!
The great thing about being poor is getting all your taxes back!
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