I tried to take your mental pulse, and found
I couldn’t count a rhythm, couldn’t tell
if you were swamped by politics, half-drowned
by pessimism, or surpassing well
in spite of recent news (which you don’t read
or watch or listen to, so you’re not scared
like I am – it’s as if you do not need
assurance, or perhaps you never cared).

You like most individuals, but scorn
the special trends, and since 13 you’ve thought
that we are toast. Rejecting mythos born
at advertising tables, never bought
or sold by you, I hear you now assert:
There’s gentle rain today, and nothing hurts.