A Visit from the Taxpayers
(my apologizes to Clement Clark Moore)
A look into Pottstown’s Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come…
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Hyltonville
Not a creature was stirring, not even The Mercury’s best known shrill;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that the new lower tax bill soon would be there;
The ill-informed voters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of refurbished neighborhood schools danced in their heads;
And Frances in her ’kerchief, and Tom with his bike,
If they could just brainwash the rest of the taxbase to prepare for the next big tax hike,
When out on Chestnut Street there arose such a clatter
Tom sprang from his latest paid op-ed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window Tom flew like a flash,
Looked into his peep mirror – saw it was safe – and then threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the week-old snow
Was making his pesky neighbors visible (they’re so annoying you know),
When, what to Tom’s arrogant eyes should appear,
A group of boisterous taxpayers, wearing protester headgear,
With several irate taxpayers, so tired and sick,
Tom knew in a moment it must be some kind of trick.
More rapid than eagles his detractors they came,
And they whistled, and shouted, and called Tom by name;
“Where are my low taxes? Where are they Tom?”
“You’ve tricked us with words for the last time, we won’t remain calm!”
They stood on his porch! They stood near his wall!
And Tom belittled, “Now go away! go away! go away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with angry taxpayer’s scorn, a truth even Tom cannot deny;
The crowd continued to fill the street, and Tom wished them to bid adieu,
Yelling and clutching with tax bills in hand, the scene was quickly becoming a zoo.
And then, in a twinkling, Tom heard on the street
The rage and shouting of every Hyltonville taxpayer…calling Tom a cheat.
As Tom drew in his head, and was turning around,
Down Chestnut Street the SWAT team came with a bound.
They were dressed all in gear, from their head to their feet,
And their uniforms were all tarnished from too many taxpayers crowding the street;
The SWAT team came armed ready for an attack,
And Tom only wished then he could give the crowd their tax monies back.
Tom’s body—how it squiggled! his posture how obvious!
His arrogance on full display, his egocentric actions so heinous!
Tom’s dried little mouth was drawn up with a scowl
And the look on his face was priceless…what a howl;
The taxpayers how he treated them with such disdain,
And they so looked forward to sending Tom back to Wyomissing on the next train;
The lies that he told about the neighborhood schools,
Every taxpayer knew then and there that Tom took them all for fools.
Tom misled the public, in promotion of himself,
And the taxpayers suffered the most…me, my neighbors and yourself;
A stroke of Tom’s pen and a twist of the facts,
Soon gave the taxpayers truthful knowledge of Tom’s dastardly acts;
As the SWAT team led Tom away, his paid op-ed a half-finished work,
Every taxpayer was satisfied, because they knew that indeed Tom was a jerk,
And as Tom sat in the SWAT van, lawyers looked through his non profit escrows,
And also they did investigate Tom’s money funneling of the boroughs;
The taxpayers rejoiced in the street, to the SWAT team they did whistle,
And away the van drove, flying down the street like the down of a thistle,
But the taxpayers heard Tom exclaim, ere the van drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”
