There must be an evolution of numbers

When it comes to paying taxes.

Some mere figures don’t make it.

Others are forced by natural computation

To fit in another block.

What does it all mean,

These strings of numeral self-worth?

The software says it’s okay.

The tax preparer says it’s fine.

But do these digits encompass a life?

Do all the forms and worksheets

Spill decimals like one’s blood?

Do they signify the sweat and stress

Of the previous years?

Or are they merely placeholders

Of some governmental plot?

Nevertheless, they’re done

And they have migrated to the IRS

For more selection and mutation.

Until one number remains,

The apex of all the amounts.

What I see is the last figure,

At least until next year.


© 2017 Valerie Hathaway

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