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Show DEAR SIRS Out of all the headaches, hard work, taxes and expense, We managed to find three thousand, four hundred, thirty-six dollars and sixteen cents To support my husband, myself, six kids and three dogs, too, Now you expect me to send Self-Employment to you. Not even enough left over for any underwear, If God taxed us, we wouldn't even have prayer. But when my children want ice cream, the government they don't understand, When I say "it's for taxes," "to heck with them" they demand. Thirty-five dollars and forty-two cents won't buy their potatoes for a month, I'm afraid, Which is their support, on this liberal amount we've made. The government neither fills their stomachs nor covers their hind-ends, Instead, for the latter, they depend on hand-me-downs from a friend. Our dog soon will have pups, that means at least eight more, I'd like to know, in your estimation, "When are people poor?" To be repossessed by the government, banks and loans, we'd be further ahead, I think, Then you could take me and throw me in the clink. Then I'd be on relief, and far from fear Of this darned Income Tax Return, next year. My children could go to an orphanage, my husband to wine, Then next year you'd get no tax from me, of any kind. Now if you can tell me where this tax is coming from, you've got me beat! I suppose you want our potatoes, you long ago took our meat. If that's the kind of government my fellowmen want, they may have their share, But for each and everyone, I'll offer a prayer, In your papers, a name you never sign, But at the bottom of this page you'll find mine! Criminally yours, Yula Sue Hunting P.S. I could think of more to say, But you said, "Please return in ten days." 42 Cowboy Poetry From Utah |