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Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #1919902
Jonathan does his taxes.
When Jonathan knew his taxes were due,
and he hadn’t done them before,
he read the booklet the government sent,
then he lay down on the floor.

He gathered his will and called his friend Bill
to see if he could gain rapport;
but it was time unproductively spent--
Bill even seemed a bit sore.

So Jonathan sat in front of his cat
and had a depressive encore;
there in the light of this sullen event,
Furball’s meow seemed to soar.

He gathered anew with W-2
to tally the incoming score;
there were deductions from money he lent,
there was the gun that he wore.

For he is a guard and prison is hard
with myriad stresses galore;
despite the bars and the lack of content,
doing the taxes stressed him out more.

20 Lines








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