Oh, Chasquido*! I’ve got to do my taxes!

Say it Rah-shay By Apr 15, 2009 No Comments

I don’t know why I wait so long to file my income taxes. I just don’t like doing them. When I was married, the ex did the taxes and I was content to sit back and be that woman who doesn’t want to get all addled with figures and such (Perhaps this is why I am not married anymore? Not going there…look away from the light….repress memories…)
I’m back. Anyhoozit, tax day is here, I can do them online and not bother with postage and lines at the post office. Here is an ode to tax day by Mac McGovern.

Someone, please tell me,
if you know, where does,
all the money go?

Taxes, taxes, on everything,
Uncle Sam’s coffers, ka-ching, ka-ching.
I’m in debt over my head,
no relief in sight, until I’m dead.

Whether at work, at play,
shopping, attending, a ball game,
it seems they want more every day

I pay in good faith,
year in, year out,
the return on this investment,
zero, or there about.

Then, come April 15th,
I live in fear,
I’m going to have to pay,
more again this year

I work very hard,
live day to day,
I look forward to when I can say,
Uncle, you get no more of my pay

Of course, when that happens,
it won’t mean a thing,
he’ll be at my funeral,
to tax,
my wedding ring

I am not sure who wrote this second poem but I liked it just as much.

Tax his land,
Tax his bed,
Tax the table
At which he’s fed.

Tax his tractor,
Tax his mule,
Teach him taxes
Are the rule.

Tax his work,
Tax his pay,
He works for peanuts

Tax his cow,
Tax his goat,
Tax his pants,
Tax his coat.

Tax his ties,
Tax his shirt,
Tax his work,
Tax his dirt.

Tax his tobacco,
Tax his drink,
Tax him if he
Tries to think.

Tax his cigars,
Tax his beers,
If he cries
Tax his tears.

Tax his car,
Tax his gas,
Find other ways
To tax his ass

Tax all he has
Then let him know
That you won’t be done
Till he has no dough.

When he screams and hollers;
Then tax him some more,
Tax him till
He’s good and sore.

Then tax his coffin,
Tax his grave,
Tax the sod in
Which he’s laid.

Put these words
Upon his tomb,
‘Taxes drove me to my doom…’

When he’s gone,
Do not relax,
Its time to apply
The inheritance tax.

Ding dang politicians!

And, because April is Money Managemnt month, I cannot forget Shel :

My dad gave me one dollar bill
‘Cause I’m his smartest son,
And I swapped it for two shiny quarters
‘Cause two is more than one!

And then I took the quarters
And traded them to Lou
For three dimes —
I guess he don’t know
That three is more than two!

Just then, along came old blind Bates
And just ’cause he can’t see
He gave me four nickels for my three dimes,
And four is more than three!

And I took the nickels to Hiram Coombs
Down at the seed-feed store,
And the fool gave me five pennies for them,
And five is more than four!

And then I went and showed my dad,
And he got red in the cheeks
And closed his eyes and shook his head–
Too proud of me to speak!
– Shel Silverstein

Crunching the numbers,

*Joy Turner’s Spanish translation of Oh, Snap!


I am mom, daughter, sister, yarn lover, word lover, crazy cat lady and library chick. Find me with book or with hook and a hot cuppa.

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