WRITING: An April Poem

Ah yes, ah yes
the I.R.S.
demandeth more
in tribute than
we thought was just
so now we must
scurry to refigure.
The Ides of March
foretold a view
of no vacation
or car bought new
but human nature
lies, and now to vent
reflects upon
the money spent.

(Well what’dya expect for five-minutes’ thought?)

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