A Dollar once said that nothing is certain excepting for taxes and rot,

But if you’re in doubt, just follow that dollars, so you can enjoy what you bought, 

So say, can you see by that rocket’s red glare, a penny that came from your tax, 

A star spangled dot on a tomahawk wrought as par for American pax,

See how it shines amongst nickels and dimes, arcing o’er savage and fodder, 

Perfectly crafted by three of your dimes to quarter an Enemy’s daughter,

So watch as it soars by the dawn’s early light, your scent as it steams through the air, 

Streaking with glory like stripes on the back of a worker whose harvest was bare, 

So tinders that tip, your copperhead gift, igniting like Liberty’s fire,

Burning with freedom, and justice for all, to all she spits on your pyre, 

So forms a crater which blossoms with fruit, as gift that was born of your labor, 

Blessing each child with rights indivisible from the lefts of her neighbor,

But do not despair, for the ones who responded, were gifted with more of your change, 

More huddled masses were double tapped lashes as par for your firing range, 

There lies your dollar, alongside the hollers of those who mourn what it strangled, 

Seeing your name as they bury in pairs the few who the fathers untangled, 

And there bleeds the mother, beating her chest, as a final and last show of care, 

Assuring an arm and a leg through the night, as proof that her mom was still there, 

So revel that bevel on every coin you send to your capital hill,

Your scent stays upon them, your print, and your name, all stamped on the ones that they kill,

So what, said Dollars for nothing is certain excepting for taxes and rot,

Yet still, I wonder how many might live, if but one year your tax was…forgot…

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