Features & Stories
What Income?

What Income?

It's a perfect Springtime morning,

gentle breeze and clear blue sky,

From the window of my prison,

I watch my horses racing by.

Bucking, snorting, prancing,

then wheel and dash a way,

A siren call to this ol' Cowboy,

" Pull on your boots, come out and play. "

I have emptied out my sock drawer,

and cleaned off the pick-up dash,

added and subtracted,

The receipts from every stash.

Now I may not be real good at math,

But it's awful plain to see ,

Ottawa, will have to survive another year,

without a cheque from me.

So throw them papers in the sack,

I've had enough of that,

I'm headed out to catch a horse,

as quick as I can grab my hat.

Mike Puhallo

Other articles by Mike Puhallo

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