21
A TIME OF CRISIS
ON a thin blue morning
Of the Month of Officials
Came Noh Kale, the income tax collector.
I laid down my roll of Confucius
And said, "Friend,
My treasure is at your disposal;
Let us audit it together—
Thirteen unfinished poems,
A letter from an editor
Saying that a check will be here shortly;
My ivory chopsticks,
And this view, from my tea house,
Of the girls bathing on the other side of the river."
But still the obstinate agent
Persisted peevishly
And with the reiteration of a primitive mind cried loudly:
"Quarterly instalment still due,
1700 taels."
