Tax time: A poem.

April is coming, that’s tax time.
So I recently sat down to finish mine.

Sure, I’ll give “the man” what’s due.
We all should, including you.

My computer fired up, my spirits spiraled down.
“I owe how much?” I asked with a frown!

Sad trombone is what I think I heard.
Why do they want so much of what I earned?

To fix the roads. To fix healthcare.
OK, OK, you got me there.

I filled out the lines, line after line,
Then I felt a tickle, and not the good kind.

I began to sweat and feel hot.
I knew right away what it was and was not.

It wasn’t nerves, nor temperature or gas.
Ol’ man winter was here to kick my …butt.

I haven’t had a cold in many moons
But now I guess my time was due.

Day one seemed to last forever
with a throat like new sandpaper.

Day two was a lot like day one
but add in a fever, lots of fun!

Today is day three, a cough and some sniffles.
That tickle never lead to any giggles.

Yet it’s funny that taxes made me sick.
“Wait,” you say, “not so quick!”

I know, I know, I probably shouldn’t blame taxes
But that’s the story I’ll be telling to the masses.

-Out of the Wilderness

PS. I actually do have some gas.