Khalid Mukhtar

Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you

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Sweet Taxes

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It's chilly, must be time to pay my taxes
To fund the schools to do their saintly deeds
Get roads repaired and trains back on their tracks: Is
The park in need of shears to trim the weeds
Help libraries build wings so patrons fly
And help the good police have stronger knees
Give judges seats to let them ponder why
That billionaire needs help to crush his lease
I'm good with all this goodness every year
Though half the good I pay for I don't use
But that should never bother me my dear
And here's three dollars so the man don't lose
    The shredded children dangling from a pole
    Less hideous than our collective soul

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