I pay a tax on my humble shack, on all my goods and other chattel,
on my bass boat and Billy goat, laying hens and Angus cattle.
I try to smile at government guile when from ownership I am driven,
when with groans and moans what I have earned must to officials be given.
N.P. smiles at me but when I see how frivolously my taxes are wasted,
I know the smile she wears lingers there only because it’s glued and pasted.
Once we were shocked when Congress talked of spending paltry millions,
but in these days it does now amaze that there talk is all about trillions.
If I had a yak I’d have to pay a tax, even on my goldfish and blackberry,
and though I try to smile all the while, I really am quite dreary.
I pay the tax on bricks and bracks and try to do it gladly,
but that the trend to waste may end, I hope and pray devoutly.

After a Walt Mason poem