The taxes become more and more
difficult to do, a result, perhaps,
of my life becoming more full,
more rich, although frankly
it feels more as if I’m being
wrapped up, thread by thread,
form by form, like Gulliver,
or a fly about to be eaten.
That’s not right.
Let’s be somewhat honest today.
I’m neither hero nor victim.
I wasn’t forced to wed, have kids,
buy a house. But, I must give
an accounting of my actions,
and this, I suspect, is the source
of our resentment each spring,
how we must provide a reckoning,
even as we understand the numbers
don’t explain what we’ve done or why,
and no matter what the tally says
it’s far too soon to know just what
it is we may have gained or lost.