I have the AICPA (American Institute of Certified Public Accountants) as one of the “likes” on my Facebook account. Today there was this quote:
“Now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.” – Guillaume Apollinaire, French writer, poet & critic.
My reply was sarcastic as usual, “Poets do not have CPE or Poet seasons.” How can you just be happy while you are in pursuit of happiness? Is that an oxymoron? You can’t walk your dog if you are chasing him. You see I’m an author, poet, CPA and critic. I have one credential more than you Guillaume. Funny, because I’ve seen some CPA’s credentials look like this: John Doe, CPA, MBA, PFS, CFP, CVA, CTIP, CMA, CGMA, etc, etc. How would you like to be the receptionist for that guy?
We CPA’s for the most part truly dread tax season. Sure there is always a handful of folks that are blissfully happy to have the entire tax code memorized. They keep your eyes glazed with their brilliance of memorization. I actually worked with a fellow who reveled in this. We might seem mild and emotionally constrained, but on April 16th we are party animals.
It’s December, so right now we are cramming tax continuing professional education into our heads. As of late with all the flux in Washington we remain on our seats edge, because for once we truly don’t know what is coming. They might pass something at the last moment that throws the tax season into complete chaos for us CPA’s, while “they” take vacations to the Bahamas.
So I decided to take this poet’s advice, explore my inner poet and write something poetically taxing.
Owed to Taxes
I do not like to prepare my tax,
I’d rather have a bikini wax.
It hurts to talk to the IRS,
More than when my wife has PMS.
I wish you’d stop changing code,
It’s hard to calculate what I owe.
Please don’t take my home as your prize,
Won’t you take an offer in compromise.
Don’t tell me my deduction will not fly,
Please go and tax the other guy.
You tax me now on that and this,
Can’t I have one moment of bliss.
I’m still in pursuit of happiness,
Yet April is synonymous with stressfulness.
If tomorrow I should whither and die,
They’ll tax me again without a cry.
Hurry up and reconcile the law,
Before winter begins its thaw.
I hope from this poem they get my drift,
Before they drive us off the fiscal cliff.
There, I now feel happy, relaxed and no longer in pursuit. Isn’t poetry wonderful?