The Peculiar Mathematics of Democracy
or, Why My Wallet Weeps While Billionaires Sleep
I’ve just mailed off two-thousand-and-fifty-four dollars,
(plus, three quarters for stamps and a hiccup in hollers).
The receipt was polite, but the check was obscene,
like feeding a whale with a solitary bean.
Meanwhile, the plutocrats sip their martinis with foam,
deductions so vast they could shelter Rome.
They hire accountants with brains like brass tacks,
and presto! They owe approximately naught in tax.
I pay for the potholes, the schools, and the zoo,
the bridges, the pigeons, and possibly you.
They pay for a yacht shaped exactly like France,
and write it all off as “a business expanse.”
So if justice is blind, then she’s surely asleep,
while I balance my checkbook and try not to weep.
But hope springs eternal, and irony too
for the richer the rich, the more broke I feel are you.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Comments (3)
I feel like many can relate to this right now with the current political climate. I know I can! Very well written and I love the cadence and rhyme pattern.
All so true! And hilarious!
First off you get credits for rhyming with France And this is an all to true statment.