Ode to The Tax Man

You Know Who...

Tax Day is over, the filings are in,

unless you used Form 48-something 

your return to extend.

I’m tired of exclusions, inclusions and math,

and questions insipid like, 

how often I bathe.

The formulas for determining the taxes I owe

are little more than 

a deep exercise in woe.

I already paid out the nose all last year,

and to review it all now 

nearly brings me to tears.

Next Tax Season I’d like for the Tax Man to just

allow me to pay what I owe 

based entirely on trust.

My small contribution, if missed, would not bust the bank,

for Congress is well along 

in causing the economy to tank.

So thanks, Uncle Obama, next year I’m sending to you

My arm and my leg 

with a social security number tattoo.