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"Nowadays, you can't turn on the TV without some talking head telling you about the economy. Yet, in a world overrun by 'analysts,' only one man has the guts, the brains, and, quite frankly, the poetry to put it all in perspective.That man is Michael Silverstein... Silverstein is a true intellectual." — Gersh Kuntzman, The New York Post
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I seem destined to parody bad nineteenth century American verse. I can’t help myself. There’s so much of the stuff, and I love it all. This time around, my inspiration is John Pope Morris’ immortal "Woodman, Spare That Tree!" The poem purports to tell the story of a guy trying to save a tree (an elm or an oak, it’s not made clear) that did him some good turns when he was a kid, from the ax of a logger who seeks to cut the tree down. This charming, anthropomorphic conceit is delivered in an unbroken 8-beat-per-line, 4-line-per-stanza package reminiscent of the early work of Paul Anka. Like the original, my updated version of this Morris poem is a plea to save a helpless party—in this case, me—from the predations not of a woodman, but from the ministrations of my elected representatives. It’s called: "Congress, Cut My Tax!" Congress, Cut My Tax!Congress, cut my tax! I know that things are tough Ask Greenspan for the dough My money’s awf’ly stretched Congress, don’t just talk ***** |
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