A well-to-do acquaintance, I encountered on the street.
His brow was deeply furrowed, wearily he dragged his feet;
Such consternation marked him, that I hurried to his side
“What’s wrong?!” “They’ve cut my taxes,” he despairingly replied.
“Oh, I’m so sor…wait, what?” I asked him, as he gave a sob.
“You looked as though your dog had died or you had lost your job!”
“They were my…FAVORITE taxes,” he explained, then blew his nose.
“Someone like you prob’ly won’t understand that, I suppose.”
“Try me”, said I, though I suspected that my friend was right-
No dread of looming tax cuts ever spoiled my sleep at night.
It would be kind to listen as he tried to tell me why
He looked as sad as I’d been, when they’d canceled “Firefly.”
“A tax cut’s not like a haircut, see; ” he mournfully intoned.
“A bad haircut grows back; it just gets better on its own.
“But this tax cut, oh, this tax cut, it’s not gonna work that way-
“It’s as if the hair were trimmed, not from my head, but my toupee.”
“They’ll take less of my money, and I’m overcome with grief!
“Can’t they see it really should be theirs? They’re making me a THIEF!”
With guilt and shame my suffering friend, it seemed, was overcome-
It crossed my mind his savings must be quite a tidy sum.
“You COULD just, of your own free will,” I started to suggest,
“Give money to the government,” but he was unimpressed.
“But my needs are unusual,” he mumbled his reply.
“If there’s consent, the thrill’s just gone.” Well, THAT was T.M.I.
No consolation could I offer, to his parting groan;
Some sorrows are so grievous, that they must be faced alone.
So, while you enjoy this economy, it would be nice
To recall wealthy Leftists, and all they’ve had to sacrifice.