Papers piled upon the desk
straining patience under dead weight
of a year past and spent.
Mr. Midea insisted we know
how to do taxes on our own
before we graduated and left home.
Page after page of publication 17 became
the bible of adulthood and a girl on the go.
No e-filing for me, oh no!
Download the forms and fill in the blanks.
Then wait for the refund
to be deposited in the bank.
I marvel at Mr. Midea who cared so much
that his students succeed in life,
not simply on exams.This, his Midas touch.
A teacher who charmed and challenged,
who teased and cajoled,
who demanded deeper dives
into underwritten seas of hidden history,
where ethnocentrism and racism lurked.
Mr. Midea made us work, and work, and work.
All these thoughts tax the memory
as I complete the taxes I owe my beloved country.
Mr. Midea, thank you for helping us grow
into independent adults with a thirst to know
the real America, the source of our joy and our woe.
Mr. Midea lives on in sweet memory
and our efforts to fulfill what he hoped for
teaching Principles of Democracy.
annarino writes 