The taxman owned a share of him,
To another he owed rent.
His ex-wife and her attorneys
Had a say in how he spent.
When food got more expensive
He switched from Steak to bread.
The rising cost of health insurance
left him prostrate, nearly dead.
He worked all week at several jobs
In an attempt to make ends meet.
The reward for all his efforts
was to be taxed like the Elite.
He was star in his own tragedy;
a tortured leading man.
Today he is a Free man.
He died at his own hand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem