Tax Season Poem by Kevin Patrick

Tax Season



Now it's your turn to be losing your nerves
be greeted and seated... then depreciated
as your earnings are cleansed and assets are purged
shores of withered paper with footprints of numbers
are scrutinized by some balding revenue collector
his eyes scintillated with the thought of new tithes

in some neat vanilla office, your futures suspended
Crossed in the firing line of pen pushers with calculators
flagging hiked rental fees, and taxed benefit expenses
Adding machines tally, like harrowing vollies
You lose a percentage, another case of federal sepsis
seeps from receipts, and cauterized balance sheets


Then there's income deductions, and retirement expenses
Hiked rental fees and prepaid liability assessments
all that working paid off to get dad his Oakwood casket
still, at least your saved if you made smart investments
your saved by the sedan, and the ranch style bungalow
penny pinching saves yourself, from ending on the streets
And that bland little man, in his neat little suit
Waves his biro like some arithmetic wizard
Turning figures to values that alchemists compute
He crosses a line, looks up to you, and voila it's done
And all your blood sweat and tears, sacrificed in paper
For the sum of your life's reduced to a ledger

Sunday, March 4, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: phonograph,social,weal and woe
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