The I.R.S.

A Christmas Story

1994

Having the one poem in the science fiction vein, we needed to come up with something else. Parts of this flew at us, while others were hard to dig out. But, we persevered, and still had our taxes done on time.

T’was the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The tax forms were placed on the desktop with care;
In hopes that the IRS would not come there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Freddy Krueger danced in their heads;
Mama and I, we had just hit the sack,
And were settling down for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I ran, oh so fast,
And tripped on the rug, sliding right past.
The light from the moon on the new-fallen snow
Made it easy to see all the objects below,
Then I wondered why I had been so complacent,
For there was a government car, and eight IRS agents,
With a gray haired driver, so quick and unhesitant,
I knew in a moment it must be the President.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Audit! now, Penalty! now, Write-Off and Long-Form!
On, Asset! on Loophole! on Deduction and Short-Form!
Go up to the porch! Go pound on the door!
You’ll get these folks' taxes or you’ll be no more!”
As dry leaves that before the hurricane fly,
When they met with an obstacle, they jumped to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With cases of forms, and Bill Clinton too.

And then, on the roof, came a sound that was new,
The stamping and shuffling of each size ten shoe.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney in droves they came with a bound.
They were all dressed in suits, and looked just alike,
Their clothes were all paid for (by the latest tax hike);
A bundle of forms they had in their cases,
I wished I could be in some other places.

Their eyes-how they twinkled; Their expressions so grim!
Their suits were impeccable, and fit oh so trim!
Their mouths, a straight line, showed no commitment at all,
They were looking for someone to take a long fall;
A calculator they had, one for each hand,
And when they all tapped, it sounded like a band;
They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,
And opened my papers and dove into the murk.
They sat round the table, and worked for a while;
While Clinton looked on with a devious smile.
When finally most of the figures were tallied,
Clinton talked to his team, to get them rallied.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head;
Soon gave me to know I would rather be dead;
But finally when all the figures were done;
Bill gave me a paper and marked it “REFUND”!
He ran to the car, to his team gave a whistle,
and away they all went like the down on a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove far from here,
“Happy Christmas to all, and maybe ... next year.”

Brian and Shirley Dean

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