I. R. S. Poem by michael Smajda
I. R. S.
The I. R. S. is, now, packing pistols
Making sure you pay your taxes that's due.
They use to be armed with paper, pencil,
In the past, when they audited you.
Sunday, January 8, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: taxes
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8/29/2026 8:57:04 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
