Tax-Bracket-ism
My parents’ tax-bracket says I don’t have to eat that
I think, looking at the slightly smelly ham at the bottom of the meat bin
Just barely past its “expiration”
Turnin’ up my nose at that cheese that tastes like wax and plastic had a baby
And it means I don’t have to keep it either
I can just… Throw it all away, go to the store and start again
All new meat and cheese, for my mid-afternoon snack
Did I really just think that?
“My parents’ tax-bracket…God, I really AM Joe Schmoe”
And the realization hits me feather weight falling onto cotton cloud soft
Because I always knew that
I was just playin’ anarchist crouchin’ in the streets with you
Daddy’s credit card in my back pocket
To save me just in time to avoid the goin gettin’ tough
I always got goin’
Knowin’ I’d be safer behind the locked doors of my ivory tower.
Okay, so maybe it was mine, and a debit card, but still
I’ve always had the money if I had to have it
Even in a musical,
Home of the best underground music and one of the sweetest hearts I ever almost knew
I was never seconds away from living in a broken pizza box and playing spoons for a sandwich
My parents’ tax-bracket says I don’t have to eat that
But I’ll sure give it to those houseless guys on the corner
They’re never far from home when they’re in their heads
Which, some of the folks I know would say means they’re always far from home
And those are the people I spend my time with
The ones who say their parents’ tax-bracket means they don’t
Have to drive a beater
Have to wear the same shirt and tie twice to the
Internship they got because so and so knows such and such and ain’t it great how
We don’t know any black people we aren’t afraid to meet in the dark
After dark we sit in our ivory towers drinkin’ our parents’ top shelf booze
Who’s got this round? We all do…
What does it mean when I know more than one person who lives in a house
Where there are more rooms than they have furniture to fill?
What does it mean that you have three spare bedrooms and four people in your family?
What does it mean, never having to eat the almost-spoiled meat
At the bottom of the bin?
My parents’ tax-bracket
Coupled with my skin?
Means I have the option
Of examining
That information.
And I’ve never not had a bed
And I’ve never not had a place to shower
And I’ve never not had a house
Or a home
And my parents’ tax-bracket
Says I don’t have to know
What it is to walk the streets after dark
Unless I want to
And I always have family
To turn to
If I chooseneedwanthave to.
So my parents’ tax-bracket
Coupled with my skin?
Means I own a lot of privilege
I’ve yet
To examine.
I think, looking at the slightly smelly ham at the bottom of the meat bin
Just barely past its “expiration”
Turnin’ up my nose at that cheese that tastes like wax and plastic had a baby
And it means I don’t have to keep it either
I can just… Throw it all away, go to the store and start again
All new meat and cheese, for my mid-afternoon snack
Did I really just think that?
“My parents’ tax-bracket…God, I really AM Joe Schmoe”
And the realization hits me feather weight falling onto cotton cloud soft
Because I always knew that
I was just playin’ anarchist crouchin’ in the streets with you
Daddy’s credit card in my back pocket
To save me just in time to avoid the goin gettin’ tough
I always got goin’
Knowin’ I’d be safer behind the locked doors of my ivory tower.
Okay, so maybe it was mine, and a debit card, but still
I’ve always had the money if I had to have it
Even in a musical,
Home of the best underground music and one of the sweetest hearts I ever almost knew
I was never seconds away from living in a broken pizza box and playing spoons for a sandwich
My parents’ tax-bracket says I don’t have to eat that
But I’ll sure give it to those houseless guys on the corner
They’re never far from home when they’re in their heads
Which, some of the folks I know would say means they’re always far from home
And those are the people I spend my time with
The ones who say their parents’ tax-bracket means they don’t
Have to drive a beater
Have to wear the same shirt and tie twice to the
Internship they got because so and so knows such and such and ain’t it great how
We don’t know any black people we aren’t afraid to meet in the dark
After dark we sit in our ivory towers drinkin’ our parents’ top shelf booze
Who’s got this round? We all do…
What does it mean when I know more than one person who lives in a house
Where there are more rooms than they have furniture to fill?
What does it mean that you have three spare bedrooms and four people in your family?
What does it mean, never having to eat the almost-spoiled meat
At the bottom of the bin?
My parents’ tax-bracket
Coupled with my skin?
Means I have the option
Of examining
That information.
And I’ve never not had a bed
And I’ve never not had a place to shower
And I’ve never not had a house
Or a home
And my parents’ tax-bracket
Says I don’t have to know
What it is to walk the streets after dark
Unless I want to
And I always have family
To turn to
If I chooseneedwanthave to.
So my parents’ tax-bracket
Coupled with my skin?
Means I own a lot of privilege
I’ve yet
To examine.