Taxes

Sketch252204417

Tax day. I compute indoors with the many intricate forms.
Outdoors, a Pacific storm blows into the village and rattles my windows.
I prepare to show that I have nothing more to give.
The boxes I complete, the questions I answer in my own mind,
give me no serenity, no certainty that the slight money flowing by me
will ever come to much good.
Briefly, I return to reflect on my morning thoughts:
may there be health, happiness, safety among all the blessed taxpayers.
May anger not turn to war just because there is money to fight one.
May some check box let me say, even though I have little money,
it must not be spent creating suffering.
May I find an afternoon of heavy rains to add to the earth.
I don’t know what to give on my own.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s