Taxes Poem
14 Apr
I wrote this a long time ago. Maybe when I was 10? I don’t know for sure. Enjoy!
Taxes
by Adam Reineke
One night when I’m in bed,
I seem to overhear,
My parents talking about,
That scary time of year.
When I wake up,
As I look around,
The simple sign of breakfast,
Isn’t to be found.
As Dad drinks his coffee,
And Mom drinks her tea,
The paper strewn table,
Is quite a sight to see.
When trying to ask a question,
I’m sure it must be hate,
They push me away like vegetables,
On the dinner plate.
With papers on the table,
All stacked in a bunch,
I look upset again,
‘Cause they forgot about my lunch.
I feel sorry for them,
As they stay awake all night,
Still sitting at the table,
To greet the morning’s light.
Their frazzled hair and blood-shot eyes,
Make them look absurd,
But when I try to interrupt,
I can’t get in a word.
That day Dad left,
Putting papers in the mail,
And said with a quiet sigh,
“I hope we didn’t fail.”
The very next morning,
They didn’t get out of bed,
I really couldn’t blame them,
But I wish I had been fed.
