My wife and I did it today. Our taxes, that is. I have no idea if I did mine right. But I tried. Anyway, I did a quick search and found this poem about taxes. It also happens to be about sex, though that was not included in my search criteria.
Sex and Taxes
Plum black & the blush white of an apple
shoulder, melon & cream, in tones to list
the flesh; in light, washed colors off at last
& textures sheer with damp I slowly pull
from you with your quick help. Weekend's ample
procrastinations to forget the least
of what we want to do. April, half a blast
of cold, half new light, green & simple.
Now dusk. Now fear. We pencil what we owe
on this short form, our numbers good enough.
The goose-neck glare undoes how we spent the day.
Each bite each bee-sting kiss each bitten O
all aftertaste. Later, at the drop-off,
postmark queue, we joke: "Now we can die!"
(Kevin Cantwell, from the April 1999 issue of Poetry.)
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