Monkton Chronicles

Monkton Chronicles

"all the news that fits, we print." alfred e. newman

@vermontbiz looks like everybody wants a piuece of my heart... pic.twitter.com/yx6uyosaji
— Mary Gerdt (@marygerdt) December 2, 2014

Well, in the dim light of a Vermont winter's day,
I can see my editor really needs to pull it up a bit...

Next thing you know,
(after struggling to scrape money from my nest egg savings
that I will pay taxes on,
on top of taxes)

Then the town of Monkton, Vermont posts minutes from the selectboard
Where they are changing the delinquent tax policy...or something...actually it is not clear
what, why or when they sprung this baby on us...nice warning to voters...

Immediately I went into Lois Lane mode...
searching memory banks...searching...searching...
Hey, the head of the selectboard told me,
"You Cannot Change the delinquent tax policy"...
 Guess that meant I cannot, but some other schmuck can....

So if you are huddled
In a cold and drafty room,
and you're wondering what to eat next,
and you forget to use the broom,
and your body doesn't smell so good,
The tax bill on the stand,
The bread bag, oh so empty,
They have the upper hand,
2 cents here, 4 cents there,
You got to pay the man.

All you feel is cold despair,
You huddle with cats,
With blankets, socks and underwear,
Cover all the windows there,
Keep out the cold night air.
You smell the hate of others,
Blowing in the Wind,
Hate or Greed, they smell the same,
All will do you in.

Grow calluses
or skin of brass
don't let them
pull you into 
The Morass.