The Last Return

On the last Saturday
before tax day
I finish my last 1040
and check the lobby to see
if any others are waiting.

But there is no one.
So, I am ready to leave
earlier than expected.

As I reach to push the button
to shut off my computer,
I hear:
"Mr. Burgess
there's one more.
She's just arrived."

So, I remove my coat
and wait.

She quietly hands me her papers.
We exchange brief pleasantries
about the weather, I suppose.

And then she tells me,
"I've been diagnosed with cancer."
And my words stumble out
something like:
"I hope they caught it early."

But even though no words are exchanged,
I can tell by the tears in her eyes
what the answer is.

And so we talk,
me hesitantly,
she meekly that she has lost her job
because she can no longer
lift the boxes of produce
to place on the grocery store shelves.
And her upcoming radiation treatments
and her fear of losing her hair.

And she tells me about
her truck driver boy friend's love of country music.
And I share stories of my prior D.J. life
where we laugh
about musicians with names like
Buck Owens and Minnie Pearl
and songs with twangy lyrics like:

"My woman left me,
and my dog died,
I've lost my job.
Drinking again."

She tells me,
"I'm so glad I came.
This is the best day I've had
in a long time."

And when I complete her return
we shake hands.
She smiles and I say:
"God bless you.
I will pray for you."

And she says
"Thanks."

And this tax season
another tax preparer has been blessed
more than I can ever explain.

The last return.

- April 2007 (poem read at United Way volunteer recognition banquet earlier this evening)