Oh Gosh by Nicholas Ingalls

 
The paint can glowed in the afternoon
Light that flowed through the open window
lined with yesterday’s icicles. The can
Opener sat to the left, surrounded by
Crumbs left over from the morning’s
Breakfast of cake and purple Gatorade.
The color of the walls reminded him of
A Hawaiian sunset through a bendable
Straw, or Atlantis under the revolving
Light of a nearby lighthouse. The IRS
Had been by the day before, Obama’s
Presidential seal proudly stamped upon
the paper’s in their hands. He held on to
the happiness of kite flying along the
coast and the sound of a lone
cello in the middle of chaos. This
was his personal tornado, the damage
had been done, it was as if the eye
would never come. Last year’s taxes
were only a drop in the sand bucket
of life, the audit like nails on a chalkboard.
His hero, Ben Franklin had
Brilliantly discovered electricity, yet he
Could not, would not fill out the vast
Desert of forms required in this life.
As he stared at the dollars adding up
He recalled his childhood silly string
And kittens, believing in the impossible
And mermaids. A telephone’s ringing broke
His daydream, whether it was King Henry VIII
Or Abhishek, he didn’t care, the sprinklers
Outside the window were too entrancing
And all he wanted was some food.