Tax Poem (belated)

That concludes "Titanic Vacation". Now for a "Tax Poem", a bit belated.



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    Tax Poem

            Some bum accosted me on the street;

            “Spare change, nephew? I need a new hat.”

            He held his stovepipe hat out upside down;

            it was colored blue, white and red

            spangled with stripes and stars,

            battered, worn, and slightly askew.

            “Sam,” I said, for it was none other,

            “You don’t look too well. What’s wrong?”

            “You don’t want to hear my life story - ” he muttered,

            “-  that’s true - ” I agreed.

            “So let’s just say I need the dough.

            Money rules the world, you know;

            so how about it, nephew?”

            “Why do you keep calling me nephew?

            I know who my relatives are.”

            “All right then,” he grinned, “I’ll put it this way;

            there’s no use calling the cops,

            I am the cops.”

            “So what is this,” I asked, “a stickup?”

            He handed me a bill. “This is what you owe me.”

            I read the note and cried “Ouch!”

            “And remember,” he said, donning his hat,

            “Filing date is April 15.”